In a Glass, Darkly
by Subtilior
Summary: Dr. Sarah Williams, psychiatrist, wants fiercely to succeed. A tormented patient, Aaron Cohen, wants only to sleep. But they have something in common ... and that something wants nothing less than Sarah herself ... Pika's Reverse Illustration Challenge.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **This is a response to the "Reverse Illustration Challenge", brought to us all by **Pika-la-Cynique**. Specifically, this fic was inspired by her picture _Here's the day you hoped would never come_. She has linked to that super-cool work of art in her profile, so go there and check it out!

Oh, and – "You didn't finish the author's notes to _Erlkönig _yet!" – I hear you cry. My excuse is: 1) bwuh? you're reading the author's notes?, 2) I've thought over what **Ruse Amour** wrote, decided I agreed with her, and will soon move all the author's notes to my livejournal, and 3) I'm a lazy, lazy person, and I'm moving soon. But the notes will show up eventually, never fear!

**Thanks: **to **Pika **for the picture, and to **Imbrium **and **thistlebush **for the beta read!

**Disclaimer: **_Labyrinth_ (and all of its characters – Jareth, Sarah, Toby, assorted fuzzy things and goblins) belongs to Jim Henson, George Lucas, et. al. I am not making a single red cent off this fic, or any other writing or drawing I do or will ever do in connection with _Labyrinth_. Unless I get to write the sequel to the Manga-That-Must-Not-Be-Named - hint, hint, Henson, Ltd.!

**Further disclaimer: **I do not necessarily agree with certain characters' statements about organized religion, sex, marriage, and morality in general. So if you flame, please do not do so only because you have your knickers in a twist about some horrible thing that someone says in this fic.

**A-a-and one more disclaimer: **The M rating is for: violence, profanity, sex, nightmares, and Symbolism. OK, maybe not the last one. But you get the point. If you are underage, or if you find yourself uncomfortable with any part of this fic, go thou and watch the Muppets.

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In a Glass, Darkly**

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Chapter 1  
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**

"Here's the day you hoped would never come."

The words are quiet. They seem heavy, somehow – falling into the dark like coins into the water of a well.

Sarah breathes in, and realizes that her voice is the one echoing around her. She is the one who has spoken.

She closes her mouth.

Sarah stares at the mirror. There is the desk, the familiar chair. Pencils. Old books. A lamp.

And there, throwing a soft light into the room, glowing and perfect, sits a round crystal.

Its immaculate beauty almost keeps her from seeing the pale feather lying next to it.

Sarah sees it, though. _Of course I see it_. How could she not see it?

"No dream, this." Her whisper sounds thin, and disbelieving. "This is no dream."

A draft brushes over one bare shoulder; she ignores it.

If she were only to stretch out one hand, she could feel the desk. The familiar chair. The pencils and old books ...

One step forward, and she could take the crystal in her hand …

The draft turns into a light wind; she shivers.

And then she hears a footfall, behind her.

Sarah closes her eyes. Opens them. Stares at the crystal, and the feather, the desk and the chair, through a sudden haze of tears.

_Here's the day I hoped would never come._

She remembers everything.

* * *

"I remember everything, Doctor."

"Do you?"

Sarah shifted in her chair, and did her best to look encouraging.

The woman stared, her mouth slightly ajar. "I remember. What _happened_ was that God came down from the clouds, and gave me a jar made out of _alabaster_, and full of the power of the Holy Ghost."

"Mmm?"

"What _happened_ was that He said –"

"He said …"

"He _said _that I would be his Daughter on earth, and that I had to bring His message to the world."

"I see."

"The message was that love is the answer. Love, and the Rules."

"You keep mentioning rules, Mrs. Johnston." Sarah flipped over a piece of paper on her clipboard, and scanned her notes. "Could you remind me of what they are?"

"You want to know the _Rules_?"

"Yes."

"… I can't tell you what they are."

"I see." Sarah made a note. "And why not?"

"Because they're a secret. Only I am the Daughter of God. Only I know the secret. You wash your hands of the blood of the Son, and take the birds from the outside, and lay down on your bed and call to Heaven –"

A beep caught Sarah's attention. She fumbled in a pocket of her white coat, and glanced down at her pager. Then she straightened, and spoke firmly to the woman.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Johnston, but we will have to continue our conversation later."

"… What?"

"I've been called to help another patient – I promise I will come back and talk to you some more, soon."

The woman pleated her lips; her eyes went wide and staring. "I am the Daughter of God."

"And I will see you this afternoon." Sarah took her patient firmly by her elbow, and ushered her into the main room. "Here's Nurse Joe." She lowered her voice and spoke to a harried man in green scrubs. "I'll be back as soon as I can – I have an emergency consult."

"The Cohen kid again?"

Sarah grimaced. "Yeah."

"Right." The bulky nurse flashed her a look. "Good luck with that. He kept the place hopping last night."

"Thanks."

Sarah hurried to the door, swiped her badge and keyed in the code to exit the ward. She half walked, half ran down the hallway.

She had been working as a psychiatrist at Mercy General for the past two years; in that entire time, she had never had the chance to work on as challenging a case as the one that now reared its head. Again. For the third time in the last week.

Biting her lip, Sarah tried to focus, dodging other doctors and nurses, wheelchairs and trolleys in the hall. _Focus_. Aaron Cohen. He had been the subject of hushed conferences in the upper circle of her office for months. If she could help them – if she could provide the breakthrough in his treatment –

– she saw herself, smiling, receiving the congratulations of her coworkers, her boss, and the entire staff of the hospital cheering and shouting "Speech! Speech!" –

"– speech that's the problem."

Sarah slapped down the flight of fancy. "Pardon?"

A coworker had fallen into step beside her. "Dr. Williams, yes?"

"Yes – yes –" Sarah floundered for words. It was her supervisor in the psychiatry department. Dr. Michaels. Mid-sixties, a recognized authority in such a wide range of subjects that she was _still _intimidated by reading about him in _Who's Who_ – Dr. Michaels – "blind as a bat, sharp as a shark" was the joke tossed around by all of the lesser doctors –

"I thought so." He nodded. "I recognized your walk. But back to what I told you: it's Aaron Cohen. He's having another episode, with what appears to be a seizure at the same time. Practically foaming at the mouth. We can't understand a single thing he's saying. I am confident, though, that he will emerge from it – but that is usually when the psychosis takes hold." His eyes, hidden as they were behind tinted glasses, swiveled in the direction of Sarah's face.

"Really." Sarah nodded, absently, then jumped to attention and took his arm, protecting him from an oncoming lab cart. "Could you _watch_ where you're going?" she snapped after the lab tech.

Dr. Michaels' wrinkled face creased in a smile. "Dr. Williams, I've had an entire lifetime to get used to dodging carts." He tapped his cane on the floor. "As long as I stay near the wall, nothing can injure me permanently."

"Sorry."

"Oh, it's no trouble." The older doctor took a brisk turn to the right. Sarah ran to keep up. "As I was saying, Dr. Williams – I have asked you to consult here in recognition of your excellent work in the ward. I think you have a real gift for working through delusions of every type, with patients of all ages. Young Mr. Cohen –" he sighed. "Young Aaron is such a severe case that I remain unsure if anything further can be attempted in his treatment."

"So you're setting the newbies loose on him?" Sarah gave a wry smile, remembering too late that the other couldn't see it.

"One could say so." Now her boss was frowning, slightly. Sarah gave herself a mental kick for being too casual.

"I'm sorry –"

"Never mind that." The older doctor stopped at a door, and paused, as if gathering his thoughts. "Here we are."

Sarah looked at the door. "Observation."

She took a nervous breath. "I've never used this room before."

Dr. Michaels gave her a small smile. "There's a first time for everything."

A raucous crow split the momentary silence between them. Dr. Michaels snorted, and jabbed at his watch with one finger. "Three o'clock. They'll be expecting us."

Sarah opened the door. "Nice watch."

"Yes." Dr. Michaels went before her into the room, cane tapping. "I keep asking my son to buy me a new one for Christmas, but until then, I'm stuck with that obnoxious rooster – on the hour, every hour."

Sarah tried to find a witty remark about punctuality, while finding a seat in the dimly-lit room – but then she looked through the two-way mirror to see another doctor, and a boy sitting in a chair – and jokes, and wit, and anything approaching humor, fled her mind.

"It's the dreams I have." The boy was crying. "Bad dreams. _Scary _dreams."

"Shhh –" The doctor next to him patted him on the shoulder, and darted a look at the two-way glass.

"Make them _stop! _Make them _stop!_" His groan turned into a strange gargle; he bent double and began to rock back and forth.

Try as she might, Sarah could not seem to take her eyes away from his contorted face. _Bad dreams_.

She thought back to her first long discussion of – _the _dream –

* * *

"Dreams are a complex creation of a complex creature – the mind, ladies and gentlemen, the _mind_."

Sarah gazed at the motes of dust floating in a beam of sunlight. The light fell in a pale stripe across the dark wood of the professor's desk. Professor Wieck herself spoke softly, her German accent giving her voice a particular lilt that was not at all unpleasant.

"Yes, Mr. Romani?"

Sarah smiled at her friend, Ben, as he ran his raised hand through his dark, curly hair.

"Um. Could you run down the main differences between Jungian and Freudian dream interpretation?"

Professor Wieck raised an eyebrow.

"Really, Mr. Romani. I hardly see the need to speak on something that was covered, at great length and depth, in your assigned reading for today."

Ben sank in his seat; Sarah winced in anticipation of a pleasant-voiced public flaying.

"If you had read the assignment, Mr. Romani, you would realize that the best encapsulation of the difference between Freud and Jung, the latter who was indeed Freud's student until they quarrelled, is this quotation of Jung himself: "As against Freud's view that the dream is essentially a wish-fulfillment, I hold that the dream is a spontaneous self-portrayal, in symbolic form, of the actual situation in the unconscious," from his 1916 work, _The Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche_ - although, that is relatively early Jung, and the differences between them became more marked as time went on - the collective unconscious of Jung being the most famous of his ideas, and Freud's classic separation of the Id, the Ego, and the Superego -"

The professor broke off, and looked at Ben with narrowed eyes. "Clever, Mr. Romani. You know very well that I can speak on this to great length -" some of the students shifted, and others covered their smiles and giggles; Professor Weick acknowledged them with a wry grimace. "I refuse to do your own homework for you, young man - " Ben gulped - "... _but _..." she tipped her head - "_But_ I will eschew upbraiding you in favor of reminding all of you of today's activity."

Giving Ben a covert thumbs-up, Sarah grinned. It looked like he was off the hook. Ben met her gaze, and wiped his forehead in an exaggerated gesture of relief.

"A _fun_ activity, boys and girls –" Wieck's voice was quietly mocking. "It has been a busy week, yes?"

The class mumbled.

"Ach, so enthused. Here is your assignment, then. You will find a partner, and analyze a dream of the other. Be sure to indicate whether you are acting as a disciple of Jung or Freud. Write down your impressions, and analysis, and turn them in at the beginning of our next class. I will select those with the most interesting analysis to give a public presentation, and we will all discuss the merits and shortcomings of dream interpretation. And, as you all know –" she sat behind her desk, and favored them with a thin smile – "I draw the line at the New Age."

A few laughs were quickly stifled. Sarah gave Ben a mocking half-wave, and turned to the person in the seat next to her. Lyn. Good person, good friend, and fellow suffering student in History of Psychology.

She watched Lyn dive for a notebook and pen, red corkscrew hair bobbing. When her friend sat back up, she blew one stubborn curl away from her eye before smiling broadly at her.

"I've been waiting for this all week, Sarah. Can't wait to get to know that big, sexy brain of yours."

Sarah huffed. "Give it a rest. Just because -"

"Just because you're on your way to fame and medical fortune - lady, I'm gonna ride your coat-tails all the way to the bank."

"Not."

"Well ... not if you tell me about that dream." Lyn waggled her eyebrows. "You've been dropping mysterious hints _forever_."

Sarah felt a brief, self-conscious pang. To that day, her vivid, waking dream of the Labyrinth had held the place of honor in her imagination; she had been looking forward to seeing what another thought of it. _I never shared it with anyone ..._

A cool voice flowed through her mind. _And you, Sarah ... How are you enjoying my Labyrinth?_

Her neck prickled. She shut the memory away, with a shiver. _Just a dream_. Sarah turned back to her friend. "Are you ready?"

Lyn flourished her pen. "Ready!"

"My dad and stepmom had gone out, and left me to babysit, and I had this really, really weird dream ..." Sarah watched Lyn scribble. The other girl looked up.

"So – spill."

"It's kind of ... well, immature, I guess."

Lyn gave her a sly look. "Are you saying that because it had sex in it?"

"No!" Sarah laughed at herself. "Well, not really. Or maybe."

"How am I going to analyze if you don't tell me what it was, already?"

"Fine." _Don't be silly – it was just a dream ... _Sarah looked off over her friend's shoulder, and began again.

"So, I was standing in my parents' room, and I realized the baby had disappeared, and monsters were crawling over the floor instead. Then an owl flew in, and changed into a guy with weird hair, and armor, and a crystal ball, and said he was a King – and he said that I could have my dreams instead of the baby."

Lyn was taking notes. "Crystal ball – magic King – dreams for baby – gotcha."

"I said that I wanted my brother back, and then he got annoyed and turned the crystal into a snake, and threw it at me –" Sarah sighed. Her friend had begun to grin. "What's so funny?"

"Sarah – a guy flies into your parents' bedroom, and throws a snake into your face ... hello?" Lyn guffawed. "Freud would have field day!"

Sarah gave her a level look. "I want a Jungian interpretation. No Freud."

"Yeah, whatever," Lyn snickered. "So –" and Sarah watched her draw a circle around the word "King" in her notebook – "Let's stick with Jung. This guy could be your Animus - the male side of your psyche. Did you get a hint of his personality?"

Sarah blinked, feeling foolish. "Um. Kind of. He struck me as – well, kind of a jerk. Nasty, and conceited. But mysterious, at the same time."

"Mysterious. And the owl is a loaded symbol in itself, and you definitely know that the snake represents fertility, or forbidden knowledge – and my inner Catholic schoolgirl _has _to remind you of Eden – and then there's the crystal." Lyn gnawed her pen. "At least he didn't have a magic wand."

"What?"

Lyn tapped her pen. "Phallic."

"Oh." Sarah grinned. "Right. But if that's not Freud, I don't know what is ..."

"Ah, Freud. Is there _anything _the man can't do?"

"You know, a crush on a guy who's long dead and who thinks women are defective men is kind of pathetic, Lyn." Sarah kept her smile warm, to keep the sting from her words.

"I never said I had a crush." Lyn's tone was injured. "I can't get a date these days – I have to daydream about _some_body. And he was groundbreaking!"

"Breaking the ground with his male mind ..." Sarah coughed, delicately. "Lovely image, that."

Her friend sniffed. "Well. Let's get back to your own _lovely _dream, shall we? The King ... the King ... Jung would probably say he's the male version of your Shadow self – the one who was pissed at her parents leaving her with the baby, and at her dad for getting married again, come to think of it – but that's probably more along the lines of the Id, with Freud – the part of yourself that wanted the baby and your stepmom out of the picture, and your father all to yourself – hmmm …" Lyn tapped her notebook. "How old was Mr. Magic?"

"Um ... older."

"Ah _ha_. Older. You say that in such a coy way. So, was he sexy?"

Sarah flushed. "Not going there."

"Hm." Lyn smirked. "_Mysterious_ Mr. Magic meets Miss Sarah and sexes off her Freudian slip!" She dodged Sarah's half-hearted slap. "Fine. If you want to keep it relatively clean, he could represent your dark desires for the interlopers in the family to be destroyed. Happy?"

"That's it?"

"It's plenty. Unease about your changing position in the family, or anger about being forced into an adult role too early, or a fear of your emerging sexuality. That's what I got from that dream."

"But that's only the beginning!" Sarah felt outraged; she could not say why.

"What?" Lyn blew out her cheeks. "There's more?"

"Lots more. I had to make my way through the Labyrinth –"

"A _labyrinth_?"

"Yes, a labyrinth, in the Und – I mean, underground – to get my baby brother back, and I made friends with a dwarf, and a fox, and a big monster – and I had to deal with the King in all sorts of disguises -"

"Ah – the archetype of the trickster -"

"And then I ate some magic fruit, and had another dream in which I danced with the King –"

"A dream within a dream?"

" – and then I broke out of that dream, and landed in a huge junk heap –"

"This is an epic." Lyn shook out her cramped fingers. "Could you sum up the rest, please?"

"Fine." Sarah felt put out. "I got to the castle at the center of the labyrinth, and I defeated the King, and I got my brother back. Ta-da. The end."

"And about time," Lyn muttered. "It's not fair. I get the most boring dreams imaginable, and other people get stuff like this. I don't suppose you were taking drugs?"

"I was only fourteen!"

"Yeah, well, little Miss Catholic Schoolgirl –" Lyn gestured to herself – "never got to try LSD, but it sounds like this dream comes close to a trip –"

"Ha ha ha –"

"I mean it, Sarah ..." Lyn's voice grew serious. "This pretty much _was _a trip. The whole bit about going to the Underground, and finding your way through a maze – that's the archetype of the Hero's Journey. Or Heroine's, in this case. And Jung was all about mythology – journeys to the Underground, or the Land of the Dead, or Hell, or whatever – those are always about ... well ... _growing_. Or changing."

She was quiet for a moment, gazing at her notebook. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that I think it was a cool dream to have."

"Oh." Sarah fell silent.

Lyn toyed with her pen. Then she looked up, and brightened. "It still could be all about sex, you know – hello-o-o-o, little girl, let me take you to my magical kingdom with my magic balls –"

Sarah wadded up a piece of paper, and threw it at her. "Pervert."

"Nah – just repressed. That's what nuns with rulers will do to you."

"Sure." Sarah smiled, and turned over a page in her own notebook. "Your turn."

"O.K. Here's one I had just last night: I was looking for my suitcases on a train, and I couldn't find them."

Sarah wrote: suitcases – train. Then she looked up. "Well?"

"That's it."

"Um." Sarah frowned. "Do you remember where you were going, on the train?"

"Nope."

"Any scenery?"

"Nada."

"Well ..." Sarah looked at her friend. "Maybe your subconscious is trying to say that you're … forgetful?"

"The Heroine's Journey," Lyn intoned, "To Find Her Missing Suitcases. Damn straight I'm forgetful. I don't need a dream to tell me that."

"Sorry – but I don't know what else it could be, really. Unless you're anxious about where your life is taking you."

Lyn blinked. "Huh."

Sarah watched her own hand doodle patterns in her notebook, and waited for her friend to speak.

"So this isn't about me forgetting your birthday party, right?"

Sarah grinned. "I have a birthday party?"

"Shoot!" Lyn slapped her own forehead, and rolled her eyes. "Yes. Tonight: drinks on me. You're only twenty-one once, and I have a great present for you."

"Sweet."

"Oh, wait – I forgot." Lyn looked at her, mischievously. "I've arranged for a special guest – a _royal_ guest – who'll give you a crystal ball if you just give him a lap dance –"

Sarah rolled her eyes.

"Will she resist? Will she refrain? Or will she give in and be sexed up beyond her wildest dreams?" Lyn blared. "Tune in, to tonight's episode of … The Jung and the Restless!"

"Sounds very interesting, Ms. O'Connor –"

Lyn choked, and Sarah hid a grin – Professor Wieck was standing right behind them, eyebrows raised and hand outstretched.

"But for now, I'll settle for your essay. Yours too, Ms. Williams, please."

Sarah pulled her essay from her notebook, and handed it over, then looked at her friend.

Lyn was staring at her own notebook, forlorn.

"I _knew _I forgot something."

* * *

"Forget about being scared, Aaron."

The doctor's voice – Sarah squinted, and recognized her – Dr. Mary Brown, from St. Raphael's – was tinny, filtering through the speakers into the room where Sarah sat, sweating. She watched the young patient rock back and forth, groaning and twitching, and felt her fingers clench around the chart Dr. Michaels had given her.

"Dr. Williams –" The older man's voice was quiet. "Observe how his psychosis becomes more vivid. When one of these seizures runs its course, it usually culminates in hallucinations that are truly remarkable, for a child of his age."

Half of Sarah was listening. The other half was focused, in horrified fascination, on Aaron as he moaned. She had had delusional patients, psychotic ones – even violent ones. But the _terror _in the boy's eyes – the manic light that seemed to slice right through the separating glass – was all the more remarkable for being fiery and _alive _in his otherwise slack face.

"I'm afraid ..." His voice was thick.

"I know you are, Aaron." Dr. Brown spoke soothingly.

"She's gone. She's gone. She's gone –"

Dr. Michaels spoke. "And here we come to the crux of the matter. The break occurred after the subject's younger sister died of an acute infection. It was a rather miserable, drawn-out affair – but young Mr. Cohen seemed to believe himself somehow at fault, and has since worked this into his delusions to a remarkable extent."

Sarah shivered.

"She's gone. She's gone. I can't find her. I can't _find_ her!!" Aaron began to scream.

"Aaron!" The doctor knelt at his side; the young boy latched onto her hands, scrabbling in fear. "It was not your fault."

"_He_ says it's my fault."

Dr. Michaels' face turned towards Sarah. She registered the tinted glasses in the corner of her eye; they reflected light in the darkness of the observation room.

"And now the hallucinations begin. There are patterns to them –"

"Patterns?" Her lips felt numb. _What is it ..._

"Yes. Particular themes, and figures –"

"He'll _hurt_ me!" The howls were louder.

"Goodness." Dr. Michaels turned towards the divider. "You see what we face."

_It can't be ..._

"Who will hurt you, Aaron?" Dr. Brown's voice was level.

"_He _will."

"Who is _he_?"

"No. No. No. I can't. I can't. I can't _find _her! He's coming! He's coming!"

Dr. Brown looked over her shoulder, directly at the glass, shaking her head.

Sarah licked her lips. It took an effort to speak. "Dr. Michaels ... Dr. Brown looks like she's having trouble."

A sigh. "We're all having trouble. I have not had such a disturbed patient, so young, in well over ten years. I hope, Dr. Williams –"

A screech from the other room.

" – I hope that you can be of assistance in –"

Dr. Michaels' voice faded.

Sarah felt the observation room go cold. She saw darkness thread together in a corner near the writhing boy and the harried doctor. And then, with utter shock, she saw something – _from my dreams _-

"– because Dr. Brown will be on leave beginning in September –"

– and Sarah stared at a whirl of glitter and bones, feathers and rotting velvet – and felt her mouth fall open as the flying scraps coalesced into a gleaming figure of silk and old leather, whispered wishes and forgotten dreams – and it slid out of the corner and into the light –

" – Dr. Williams? Are you listening to me?"

–_ No dream, this _–

–and Sarah felt the bottom fall out of her stomach, as – _who is it? _–_ it can't be _–_ you're him, aren't you? You're the Goblin King _–

–the Goblin King found Aaron with his glittering eyes, and grinned, and pulled a crystal from thin air.

The gesture she remembered, from her dream.

"How nice to see you again, my little friend!"

But the voice – the voice was from a nightmare. A waking nightmare – one she had only had once.

Sarah remembered it –

* * *

"I can't believe you ate the whole thing!"

Lyn stumbled next to Sarah, in the entryway to their dorm.

Sarah felt like sliding to the ground. She settled for giggling. "It was a dare! And I did it!"

"But that was a whole steak, Sarah –" Lyn made a huge gesture – "That's a hella big chunk of meat – You're probably going to be sick. You'll have a nightmare. A nightmare about a _cow_, coming to eat you _alive_."

Her stomach was churning. "I needed something to bala – balan – _balance_ – out the drink."

"A little drink."

"A _little _drink. A teensy, tiny drink."

"Right!" Lyn clapped her hands and began to sing. Loudly. "Happy Birthday to you ... Happy Birthday to yo-o-o-ou ..."

"Not that again."

"Why not?"

"You sound like a duck. A _dying _duck."

"Fine ..." Lyn grinned a lopsided grin and shoved open the door. "Bedtime for the birthday girl. And bed for me. And hope I'm not too sick tomorrow – gotta write another paper for Queen Bitchface Wieck."

"Shuttup." Sarah aimed a punch at her; she missed. "She's cool."

"Just cause you're good in her ass – _class_." Lyn slurred. "Her class!"

"Freudian slip!"

"I'll get you for that."

"Sure you will." Sarah left Lyn at the door to her room. "Maybe tomorrow?"

"Yeah, tomorrow. 'Night. Happy birthday ..."

"Thanks."

Sarah stumbled down the hallway to her own room, and fumbled with her keys, and leaned against her door until it creaked open.

"Happy birthday to me ... Happy birthday to me ..."

_Happy birthday ...  
_

Sarah froze.

She flicked on the light switch. Nothing.

"Bulb must be out ..."

She squinted in the dim light – _light? Light from where? – _

And then she saw the crystal on her desk.

_Happy birthday, Sarah ..._

A whisper floated out of the darkness of her mirror.

"What –" Sarah croaked. Her stomach had stopped churning and was now revolving, slowly, with the room. Round and round.

The only fixed point was her desk. Her desk, her familiar chair, the mirror and lamp, some old books – and the crystal. And – Sarah peered into the flickering, silvery light – a feather -

A feather ...

The walls of the room pressed inward.

_Sarah ..._

"Who is it?" she choked.

_Look what I'm offering you ..._

The voice slipped through the air and _slid _over her body – her heart thumped once, hard, and her mouth went dry.

"No." Her breath was ragged. "No. It can't be."

The feather inched toward her, on a puff of wind – from where? The window was closed ...

Sarah took a step forward, and stared into the mirror. Saw her own pale face, her clothes askew, her eyes wide. "Is it really you?"

Her reflection _rippled_, and began to change – She froze in fear, feeling her stomach leap up into her throat.

And then she squared her shoulders. "No." _I won't play this game. I'm not a child anymore_.

The rippling stopped.

"You're there, aren't you?"

Silence.

She bit her lip. "I know you're there. I know who you are –" Sarah gulped, and tried to keep her voice steady. "I know you're watching. So listen up."

The silence deepened. The room stopped churning. She had a sudden image of someone, somewhere, holding his breath, and leaning forward –

Sarah took a step back from the mirror.

"Take your – your _present _and go. Go far away from here. I defeated you, Goblin King –" she stumbled over the words – _this is unreal _– "I reject you. I want no part of you – not now, not ever." She gulped in a breath, and spoke clearly: "You have no power over me!"

The air turned arctic. Was that _– _she squinted – was that _ice _on the mirror?

"That's right. Leave! Go away!"

For a long moment, nothing happened.

But then the mirror contracted in on itself, and _expanded_, and the feather blew off her desk in a gust of air and came towards her –

– and thin trails of mist shot through the mirror's glass, and coalesced into a faint image of a man wearing a white feather cloak, his face beautiful, and yearning, shimmering in the silver light ...

_Sarah ..._

Goosebumps rippled over her arms and down her back – that _voice _– the same one that she remembered from the Labyrinth – from her _dreams _... She clutched at her elbows with her fingers – _I am not feeling this, I am __**not **__feeling this _– as her body tingled with desire –

He held out one hand to her. She took one stumbling step forward, and she clapped her hands over her mouth in horror as her stomach lurched. _Oh God ..._

_Come to me _...

"No!"

– and the walls of the room pressed in on her further, in black bands – and was it a trick of the mirror, or the angle of light, that made the beauty of his face twist and distort into rage – all of a sudden, he was so much _closer _in the mirror, pressing one palm against the other side of the glass and baring his teeth in a snarl, his eyes molten silver, glowing white-hot with fury –

"**No!**" Sarah screamed, and covered her face. "You lost! Go _away!!_"

A strange noise – an answering scream? _No –_ Sarah peered out from behind her hands, and saw a branch scraping against the window. Without thinking, she ran to it and flung up the sash.

A warm breeze brushed past her. The feather wafted outside, lost to her sight after only one breath -

Sarah stared after it, into the darkness of the night – looking for something telltale – something easily explained – an owl, its white wings a pale silhouette against the sky –

But there was nothing.

She turned back – only just in time to see the shining orb on her desk dissolve into thin air.

Sarah backed up, until her shoulders hit the far wall of her room. _Impossible_.

The room was pitch black. She could no longer see the mirror.

"I don't believe it."

The darkness swallowed her voice.

Her stomach began its steady churn again. _I don't believe it_, Sarah thought, wildly. _But that doesn't mean I have to sleep here tonight._

She grabbed a blanket, and a pillow, and spent the night in Lyn's room.

Upon waking, she did not remember her dreams.

* * *

The Goblin King was singing.

"Dream, dream, dream –" he stopped, and smiled even wider, a smile full of crooked and jagged teeth. "Dear, sweet little Aaron. How are you? How are your _dreams_?" The crystal sphere danced across his fingertips; he snickered.

"No …" The boy moaned, and began to cry. "He's there. He's _right _there, in the _corner_ – he's laughing at me!"

"You see, Dr. Williams?"

_Yes – I see – it's impossible, but I see –_

"The hallucinations are remarkable for their detail, and his ensuing reactions." Dr. Michaels' tone was academic. "He insists on the figure of a king. Occasionally, there are monsters present, and even changes in the weather –"

"He's there. He's here. He's going to _hurt _me!"

Inside the room, Dr. Brown was making clucking, soothing noises. Sarah felt dizzy. _They can't see him_.

"They can't see me, my fine feathered –" The Goblin King tossed the crystal to the ceiling, caught it in one smooth motion. "And who says I'm going to hurt you? Do the doctors say so? Hello, Dr. Brown –" he took a sliding step into the room, and bowed, and straightened, twirling on his feet – "and hello, Dr. Michaels." One leather-covered hand rapped sharply on the dividing glass. Sarah gasped.

The Goblin King paused. And turned.

Sarah felt her head swim, as she stared into his eyes. Those _eyes_, with their different pupils, and their glitter and gleam. How could she have forgotten his eyes? His eyes in her dreams. His eyes in her mirror – the glass of her mirror – _the glass_. _The glass_. _He can see through the glass –_

"And _hello_ …" The shining, silvery hair brushed his shoulders as he tipped his head. He bared his pointed tips of his teeth in a slow smile. "What have we here?"

He pressed his hand to the glass. It _rippled_ –

"No –" Sarah choked.

"Dr. Williams?" Dr. Michaels turned his blind eyes to her. "Is there a problem?"

"Dr. _Williams –_" the Goblin King breathed. He grinned, and clasped his hands to the crystal, and held it under his chin. "My old friend. My _dear _Dr. Williams – how well you look!"

"W-what?"

It was Aaron, speaking. Aaron's voice, cracked and quivering, reached Sarah through the speaker.

She ripped her gaze from _– him – it – _and looked at Aaron – he was following the Goblin King's stare.

"Surprise, surprise, Aaron! What a surprise for you!" A cackle. "That, my boy, is a two-way mirror! You think it is just an ordinary one, but there are people on the other side of it watching you – people as real as I am! And one of those watchers is so _special _to me ..."

"Special?" Aaron squeaked, his face white with fear.

"Yes ..." the Goblin King gripped the crystal hard in his fingers; his lips drew back from his teeth. "My dear friend Dr. Williams is on the other side of that glass. She knows me! She can see me – just as well as you can!"

The boy's jaw dropped. "She can?"

"Yes!" The Goblin King's voice was full of glee. "Her name is Sarah Williams. She has hair as brown as bark, and eyes as green as grass – she is beautiful, she is brave – she is thirty-two years old, and has a brother named Toby, and a mother named Linda – there!" He pointed in one quick motion; Sarah flinched. "There she is!"

"Dr. Williams?" Aaron got up, jerkily, and walked to the glass, and whispered. "Are you there?"

Sarah froze, appalled. Beside her, Dr. Michaels inhaled. "This – this is – _irregular _–"

"Yes, she's there!" The smooth voice, magnetic – _magical _– flowed on. "Tell her! Tell her about herself!"

Aaron pressed both hands against the glass. They flattened, and beads of sweat pearled on the palms. He began to gabble. "Dr. Williams! Your name is Sarah! You have hair as brown as bark, and eyes as green as grass – you are beautiful, you are brave –"

"What?!" Dr. Michaels barked. He pressed the intercom button. Dr. Brown leaped from her chair, and picked up the phone.

"Dr. Brown – what did you tell the boy?"

"Nothing, sir – I have no idea where he got what he's talking about, but he –"

The rush of words continued, as Aaron began to shake where he stood. "Sarah you are thirty-two years old and you have a brother named Toby and a mother named Linda –"

"Aaron …" The beautiful face tilted. "She can see me – she can _hear _me. But do you want to know the best part, Aaron?"

"What? What? What?" Aaron rocked back and forth.

"She will _lie_. She'll never say that she can see me. She will never admit it. Because if she did –" and the King began to twirl the crystal in one hand – "if she did …"

He stooped to hiss his words into the boy's ear. "They'd think that she was as _crazy _as you!"

"No!" Aaron screamed, and began to pummel the glass. "I'm _not _**crazy**! Help me, Dr. Williams! **Help** me!!"

Dr. Michaels, white-faced, spoke quickly into the intercom. "Dr. Brown, get some restraints before he hurts himself!" The other doctor obeyed, fumbling for her pager.

Sarah gasped for breath, as the Goblin King leered at her. "Well, _Dr._ Williams?"

He twisted the crystal, and turned it into a long, silver needle, and began to spin it between a finger and thumb.

"Are you going to help _poor_ little Aaron?"

She took in another, shuddering breath.

"Wait –"

Dr. Michaels turned. "Yes?"

The Goblin King smiled.

"Too late."

And he jammed the needle into Aaron's right eye.

The child screamed in agony, and crumpled to the ground. He writhed, and howled, and the Goblin King bent over him, and adjusted the needle before standing back and grinning at Sarah.

"Dr. Brown!" Dr. Michaels shouted into the intercom, and grabbed his cane, and sped to the door as best he could; the other doctor ran to Aaron's side and held onto his arms.

Sarah found herself on her feet. "Stop it!"

"Ah, Sarah –" his whisper cut through the glass – "How long has it been, since we last spoke? It has been far, far too long, hasn't it? For both of us ... _Both _of us …" The Goblin King drew his cloak around himself. "Call me, Sarah. Call me by my name – tonight. We have things to discuss, you and I."

The Goblin King's smile was gone. He stared at her, his eyes burning in his stark white face.

"We have unfinished business."

Sarah saw his image ripple, and shimmer through the glass – and suddenly she could see _through _him – she could see Dr. Michaels and Dr. Brown bent over Aaron, holding the screaming boy still –

The needle was whisked away with gloved fingers, and thrown into the air - it dissolved into silver dust, sparkling and shining as it fell, like a blessing ...

And with the same whirl of feathers and magic, and unspoken words and nightmares, the Goblin King turned on his heel, laughing, and disappeared.

* * *

To be continued ...

You read? Please review!


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

* * *

Sarah could not remember stumbling from the room. But there she was, standing in the hallway, staring at Dr. Brown as she supervised an orderly loading Aaron onto a stretcher.

The boy's body twisted and arched above the restraints. Sarah winced, and turned away – and jumped as she faced Dr. Michaels.

"I do not know _how _such a thing could have occurred, Dr. Williams –" the older man's face was pinched in the hall's fluorescent light. "I will, of course, inquire into a possible security breach – it's not beyond reason that young Mr. Cohen may have taken a look through various charts while in my office –"

He continued talking, his hands holding tightly onto his cane. Sarah pretended to listen. Her mind felt dull, somehow – thick, like a stagnant pond. She made meaningless noises of agreement with her supervisor, and stared down the hallway, taking in the stretcher being wheeled away, the flashing lights of the elevator, the beeps and clicks of machinery, the round face of the clock above the door –

The clock. It was five-thirty – Sarah double-checked the time against her watch – which meant that she was late for her closing rounds.

"Dr. Michaels, I have to go look in on some additional patients before I leave for the day. No –" she forestalled his apology – "it's quite all right." She tried a smile. "Complications like this happen all the time, don't they?"

Although his eyes were hidden behind the tinted glasses, his gaze felt sharp, somehow.

"Is everything all right, Dr. Williams?"

_No, Doctor_ – Sarah thought_. I just had a vision from a dream, and if I'm not crazy, I'm sure as hell going to be if I see him again – _

"I have a bit of a headache –" she watched, cynically, as his expression cleared. "And that session with Aaron was certainly … spectacular."

"Indeed." Dr. Michaels nodded at her. "I hope that nothing but good will come of your collaboration in his treatment, Dr. Williams. Good night."

It was with a sense of deep unreality that Sarah turned, and fumbled at the elevator buttons. Nothing but good. _Nothing but good_ … Far from it.

_We have unfinished business._

Sarah shivered as she watched the elevator doors slide shut.

* * *

Mrs. Johnston had gone to bed early – Sarah checked her off her mental list, and walked wearily up the stairs to her last patient. She swiped her hospital ID, donned a pair of sterile gloves, and passed through the double doors of the NICU.

Someone tapped her shoulder. Stifling a yelp, Sarah turned – and saw Ben – Benedict Romani, her old friend from college –

"Hello, Doctor!" He clapped one hand to his forehead in a theatrical gesture.

Sarah smiled, faintly. "Hello, Father." She reached out and flicked at his clerical collar.

The mutual greeting, at first a joke, had stayed with them for the year that they had worked at Mercy together. Sarah felt her smile soften as she looked at her friend. Ben, with the dark eyes and curly hair that had led Lyn to call him "Father What-a-Waste" – his familiar grin as broad as a billboard and twice as bright.

"What's going on in the wide world of psychiatry today?"

Sarah shrugged. "This and that." For some reason – _you know the reason _– she had no desire to discuss supernatural visitations with a friend who was a priest.

"Gotcha. We still on for Thursday?"

"Thursday?"

Ben laughed. "All this time, Lyn never rubbed off on you – but now here you are forgetting The Wedding of the Century!"

"That's right." Sarah sighed. "Correct me if I'm wrong – but aren't Catholics not supposed to get married during Lent?"

"Ah, we're a liturgical _scholar_, all of a sudden. Very good. The rules can be bent every now and then – especially if your dad's got pockets so deep they stretch down to Limbo. Thus it is, thus it ever shall be –" his words acquired a touch of grandeur. "The crowning event of the social year – even if it's Lent, and even if nobody drinks at the reception – the marriage of Mr. Joseph Reid and Ms. Lyn O'Connor – an occasion which will live on in the minds of all who see it –"

"And why is that?" Sarah asked, knowing the answer.

"Because I'm officiating, of course." Ben waggled his eyebrows. "First wedding! I need you there to hold my hand!"

She met his enthusiasm with a forced smile. "I'll be nowhere near the front, you know."

"Yeah –" He looked off into the distance. "I know you and Lyn fought, but that's still pretty harsh, not asking you to be a bridesmaid –"

"Leave it, Ben." Sarah cut him off.

"Whoa, whoa," He held up his hands. "Brrr. Is it me, or did it just get colder in here? Come on. I gotta give the whole reconciliation part of the job description a shot sooner or later, huh? Best friends for-_evah_ through college, roomies for five years, and then it all goes south in the twinkling of an eye. I don't get it."

"It's easy enough." Sarah began walking down to the NICU desk; Ben walked with her. "I can't stand dear Joseph."

Ben grimaced. "Good ol' Joe – come on, Sarah, I know he comes across as a little – well, a _lot _like a caveman, but Lyn loves him –"

"Bad taste."

"- _ouch_ – next stop, the burn unit – and she wanted you to like him, and instead you cut her off?"

Sarah gave him a level look. "Did she tell you that?"

Sensing that the conversation had taken a more serious turn, Ben tried to laugh. "Well, yeah. Sort of."

_Can't wait to get to know that big, sexy brain of yours. _Sarah swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. After all this time, and raging arguments, certain flashes of Lyn could still yank her heartstrings like nobody's business –

_We have unfinished business._

Sarah shivered. "If it were your business, Ben – and it isn't – I'd tell you that she cut me off, and, while doing so, did everything but accuse me of tempting her away from God's purpose for her life. In fact, she might have done that." Sarah felt her lip curl. "She lost me at Beelzebub."

"Ah." Ben fell silent.

"So that's why I don't like good ol' Joe, as you put it. He knew a good catch when he saw it, and he plays on her insecurities about herself _and _her religious beliefs in order to ensure that she'll make him a _proper _wife. And here I thought the Middle Ages were long gone."

Sarah focused on checking paperwork as she heard Ben sigh. "Look – I can only apologize for Mother Church so many times."

"I know." Relenting, she turned and smiled at him. "Not your fault. You're one of the good guys."

Ben smiled back. "And this good guy'll owe you big, if you hold up a cue card or two, even from the way back."

"Sure thing."

They walked back to the middle of the NICU, and Sarah, blowing a strand of hair away from her forehead, felt a headache begin to pulse at the base of her skull. "I don't suppose you've seen –" she squinted at the chart – "Mrs. Duvall?"

"Oh." Ben tipped his head. "Right over there."

There was – Sarah checked the paperwork – Rachel Duvall. Dark hair matted, and bags under her eyes. The woman was hanging over the incubator, singing:

_Go to sleep you little baby__  
__Go to sleep you little baby__  
__Everybody's gone in the cotton and the corn__  
__Didn't leave nobody but the baby_

Sarah sighed. "Great. How long has she been like this?"

"It's just a lullaby." Ben's face turned serious. "The baby's not doing well at all – but Sarah –" He reached out, and mock-punched her on the shoulder. "You look tired. I'll call up your shift relief, and they'll start out with Mrs. Duvall."

"Really?"

Her friend looked at her sympathetically. "Yeah. Go home and get some sleep. Or, on second thought –" and his grin returned – "Don't get any sleep. Not tonight, not Wednesday night. Thursday's my day to shine, and I don't want your pretty face taking up my spotlight."

Sarah smiled despite herself. "I think Lyn will say the same thing."

Ben waved a hand airily. "She may look nice, but I've got God on my side."

"Right." She handed over the chart, and made for the door, Ben at her side.

They walked through the double doors and stepped into the hallway. Sarah continued; Ben held back.

"Be there or be square!" he yodeled after her. "After my stellar performance, everyone in town will know my name!"

_Call me by my name …_

The memory made her skin prickle.

_Call me by my name – tonight._ _We have things to discuss, you and I._

Sarah walked onto the elevator, and pressed the button for the ground floor. She waited until the door closed before she covered her face with her hands and shuddered.

* * *

She picked her way through an alley at the back of the hospital, holding her sleeve to her nose against the smell of refuse.

_I know this is an urban pit, but God _– Sarah winced away from a rat slithering behind a dumpster. _The Health Department writes us up every year and nobody does anything – _

Shivering in a cold breeze – _still March, after all – _she jerked her gaze away from a homeless man hunched over next to the same dumpster, and looked back over her shoulder to the alley's end, watching the setting sun peek between two buildings on the opposite side of the street.

_Am I really going to do this?_

She remembered his voice, snide and knowing.

_Are you going to help poor little Aaron?_

Perhaps she could. Sarah bit her lip. She had no idea why he wanted to speak to her – but maybe she could work something out with him, and get him to stay away, and become the breakthrough in Aaron's treatment –

Sucking in her breath, she thought of the possibilities. And since her mind was revolving visions of Aaron better, Aaron embracing her, and her colleagues looking on in approval, cheering – she hardly noticed her lips part and her breath shape the word: "Jareth …"

Something scrabbled in the alley behind her.

Sarah turned. And felt her lip curl back in shock, and disgust, as she saw the homeless man begin to rifle through a pile of bags that were clearly labeled "Biohazard" –

"Hey!" she snapped. "Get away from there!"

The figure turned, and grinned at her in the dimming light, and – _God _– _is that – Jareth?_ It shifted where it crouched, and she had a sudden, sickening vision of a giant spider scuttling over the ground –

"_Such_ a spoilsport." He tore open a bag, and rummaged through it. "Besides, nobody needs these anymore."

Sarah's skin felt clammy. She gazed at – _the Goblin King_? But why did he look like – how was it possible? If she were to step up to him and reach out one hand, she could trace the familiar sharp lines of cheekbone and jaw, and the dramatic, flaring eyebrows - but he looked sick, or starving - and so_ dirty _...

Jareth plucked something from the bag, laughed in pleasure, straightened up quickly and sidled towards her. She took in the ragged clothing, gaunt face, sunken and shining eyes – matted hair and gray, unhealthy teeth –

His smile widened. She saw a sore at the corner of his mouth split - a clear liquid began to seep from it _–_ and she felt a lurch of nausea. "Why – why do you look so –"

"I always knew you were shallow, Sarah." He leaned back against the hospital wall. His skin practically blended in against the pebbly cement. "You'd do well to remember: pretty is as pretty does."

His beautiful voice sounded strangely repulsive, coming from a throat that hadn't seen a razor, or soap for that matter, in what looked like weeks. She swallowed back a gush of bile.

"What do you want?"

Jareth regarded her coolly. "I have what I want." He flipped up one hand – Sarah saw a dirty syringe in it and every medical instinct in her body revolted. Taking a vial out of one pocket and jabbing the syringe into it, Jareth continued as if he hadn't noticed her shudder. "The question is: what do _you _want, Sarah?"

She opened her mouth to protest. "I –"

"You called me here, after all." He drew back the syringe plunger, his eyes not leaving hers. "What do you want?"

"You told me to call you."

"And you have grown _obedient _in your old age. Such a time it's been –" he slipped the full syringe out of the vial, and flicked the needle with one finger. "Hasn't it, Sarah? Have you missed me?"

"No."

"Hmm. I should be insulted, I suppose, but I passed that threshold when you wouldn't take my birthday present."

_The crystal_. _The feather_. Her skin prickled at the memory.

"I didn't want it."

"Oh, I got that message." He threw the vial away into the alley; she heard splintering glass and took an instinctive step backwards. "But now you have called me to you, Sarah, and I ask once more: What – do you – want?"

_Am I really going to do this?_

Sarah took a deep breath. "I want you to stop tormenting Aaron."

"The boy?" Jareth tilted his head.

"I want you to stop."

"What is he to you, Sarah?" A feral smile. "He failed my Labyrinth. He is _mine_. Admittedly, he's just a plaything – but nonetheless, I so enjoy the game. I see no reason to stop ... _tormenting _him, as you so melodramatically put it."

Swallowing hard, Sarah kept her voice steady. "He failed the Labyrinth?"

Jareth flipped the syringe back and forth between his hands. "Oh, yes. He wished away his sister, and didn't return with her – and, alas, his dreams did not turn out to be as enjoyable as he anticipated."

_Look what I'm offering you …_ "You gave him his – dreams?"

"He accepted them, in the forfeit. What few take into account is the fact that I create these dreams personally – and I like to see some return on the investment of a considerable amount of time and trouble."

"Dreams …" Sarah whispered to herself. "You … you create dreams …"

"Dreams, nightmares, hallucinations –" Jareth waved one bare and dirty hand in dismissal. "Which reminds me – I have several appointments –" he shook the syringe, and a drop of liquid fell from it to the ground "– so please do get to _your_ point, won't you?"

"Fine." Sarah bit out. "I want you to _stop_ torturing Aaron."

He looked at her, steadily, from where he stood, hunched, against the wall.

"What will you give me to stop?"

His voice was smooth, and low. Sarah's breath caught in her throat.

_What will you give me –_

_Oh, God._

Memories flashed through her mind, one after the other. It had been a dream. She had long thought it had only been a dream. A dream of him dancing with her, singing to her, leaning over her and looking into her eyes – _And you, Sarah ... How are you enjoying my Labyrinth?__ – _and his plea to her_ – __fear me, __love __me, do as I say and I will be your slave __– _and then – she shivered – the gift on her twenty-first birthday – his voice slithering from within the mirror_ – __look what I'm offering you __– _alighting on her mind and her body as though it knew her, somehow – intimately – in the tones of a lover –

_Am I really going to do this?_

She spoke, slowly. "You wanted something from me – long ago. 'Fear me, love me' …"

Her voice dried up as she saw his eyes gleam, in the gathering darkness.

Then he flicked his gaze away from her, and sneered. "You think that still applies, do you?"

Sarah felt her face flush.

"Now, now, no need to get embarrassed …" Jareth drawled. He pushed himself off the wall, and walked towards her. Sarah held her ground. _We're the same height, now_ – she thought, wildly – _I've grown up _–

From up close, she could practically smell the sores on his jaw, and neck.

"I suppose it could be entertaining enough." He stared into her eyes, his own assessing and cold. Then he looked at her lab coat, and then at her legs, leisurely; she felt her face turn even hotter.

"Ah." He smiled, and she caught a glimpse of rotting teeth, and her stomach turned over. "Don't feel ashamed, Sarah …" His voice was idle. "It is an age-old bargain – one I have made with countless others. Some wanted knowledge, some wanted the world – the stories I could tell you! – and others have more _modest _desires – like you, my dear. Such a modest woman, you have become."

"Name your price."

Jareth's eyebrows flew up, into his dirty hair. "Goodness – why so blunt? It _is_ an age-old bargain, yes, but there's usually some attempt at courtesy, on both sides."

"Courtesy?" She felt as though she were choking.

He leaned forward, and she shuddered at the feeling of his breath – strangely hot – at her ear. "Sarah, dear … I am the very _flower_ of courtesy."

"Well." Sarah forced herself to speak. "Well, you'll have to be more straightforward with me. I don't waste time with trivialities."

"Trivialities?" Jareth tsked. "You truly have changed. Why should everything be laid bare as bones in the light of day? Why not use your imagination, Sarah? You do still have an imagination, don't you?"

She turned away from him. "I do."

Sarah could practically hear his slow smile.

"Well then. All I ask … is for some of your time. Let me think."

She looked back, and saw him smiling at her, his head tipped to one side. "Why not hold to tradition? ... Yes." His eyes glittered beneath their lids. "Three … _nights _of your time, Sarah. Sunset to sunrise. In which you can persuade me to do your bidding, as best you see fit."

Sarah gritted her teeth. "I don't suppose you'll tell me how, exactly?"

Jareth's smile turned coy. "That's where your imagination will come in handy." He stepped closer, again. "Won't it?"

He was too close. She could hear the rasp of his breathing, and then she felt him touch a finger to her cheek.

_Shit_ – his touch _burned_. Before Sarah could stop herself, she flinched backwards.

Jareth laughed.

Sarah shivered. "I need to think about this."

"Of course you do." He breezed past her, to the mouth of the alley. "You think entirely too much."

She watched him, silhouetted against the blood-red splash of sunset.

Jareth turned back to look at her. She could not see his face.

"Tomorrow, then?"

Wordlessly, she nodded.

"Very well. I will meet with you tomorrow, at this time –" he indicated the setting sun – "and you need not worry as to location. I will find you."

"Where –" Sarah licked her lips. They were dry. "Where are you going?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "To and fro upon the earth … walking up and down in it." His accented voice lilted. "Places to visit, people to see. I'm a busy man."

Her skin crawled. "You're not a man."

"No."

A breeze stirred the plastic bags and scraps of paper in the alley. Jareth was silent. Sarah gasped, and squinted against the darkness as she saw his shape flicker.

"Sweet dreams."

And then he was gone.

* * *

Thanks again to **Imbrium** and **thistlebush** for the beta. You read? Please respond!


	3. Chapter 3

** Chapter 3  
**

* * *

Sarah watched the moon rise, later that night, from the window of her home office. She leaned back in the chair at her desk. Not brooding – _not brooding _– but thinking. Thinking, looking at her calendar and –

She swirled the heavy tumbler in one of her hands, gazing at its golden color in the dim light of her desk lamp. Nothing quite like single malt scotch for stress relief. Blinking, she focused on her calendar.

Tonight – nothing. Nothing Wednesday night. Lyn's wedding on Thursday night. Nothing Friday night …

The calendar stared up at her, pristine, except for a few neatly-lettered appointments. She stared back.

_Am I really going to do this?_

His voice crept through her mind. _Three … __**nights**__ of your time, Sarah. In which you can persuade me to do your bidding _…

_Persuade me …_

Sarah sipped at the scotch, and thought back to Jareth. The revulsion had muted, somewhat, after a few hours and a drink or two. But his _face –_

Shuddering, she abruptly rose and walked over to the bookshelf opposite her desk. Jareth. She had thought him a dream – and now here he was, insinuating himself into her thoughts, worming his way into her life – and not just hers … Sarah frowned. Aaron could see him as well. And Aaron was – she thought back to his chart – _certifiable _…

And he could see Jareth. Aaron could see Jareth; Aaron was enmeshed in schizophrenia … then …

What did that make her?

She took a gulp of her scotch.

_She will __**lie**__. She'll never say that she can see me. She will never admit it. Because if she did –_

"I'm not crazy." Sarah bit her lip, as the words escaped her mouth.

Shaking her head to clear it, she looked over her books. Jareth – what _was _he? She grabbed a book at random, and read:

_Whereas the personal unconscious consists for the most part of complexes, the content of the collective unconscious is made up essentially of archetypes._

_The concept of the archetype, which is an indispensable correlate to the idea of the collective unconscious, indicates the existence of definite forms in the psyche which seem to be present always and everywhere. Mythological research calls them "motifs"; in the psychology of primitives they correspond to Levy-Bruhl's concept of "representations collectives," and in the field of comparative religion they have been defined by Hubert and Mauss as "categories of the imagination." Adolf Bastian long ago called them "elementary" or "primordial thoughts."_

Sarah blinked fuzzily. She set down the tumbler, leaning against the bookshelf to keep her balance.

_There exists a second psychic system of a collective, universal, and impersonal nature which is identical in all individuals. This collective unconscious does not develop individually, but is inherited. It consists of pre-existent forms, the archetypes, which can only become conscious secondarily and which give definite form to certain psychic contents._

Her old favorite. Sarah turned the book and squinted at the title in the darkness. Carl Jung, "The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious," 1936. Translated by R.F.C. Hull. Edited by Joseph Campbell.

She smiled half-heartedly. The pages still bristled with Post-It notes, from where she had written her senior thesis. And her notes for History of Psychology. All these years, and she hadn't cleared it out – she put on her internal analyst hat, with Dr. Michaels' voice: _Do you feel, Dr. Williams, that by cleaning and sorting through your old books, you would be bidding farewell to part of your life that, perhaps, you do not feel is finished? An unfinished chapter, if you will?_

Sarah let her eyes wander over the second shelf – the Archetype Shelf. Campbell – _The Hero with a Thousand Faces_. Frazer – _The Golden Bough_. What a phase that had been … Her smile faded. The Heroine's Journey. The Heroine's Journey to find some other male authority figure to tell her what to think, more like –

_Persuade me to do your bidding _…

She shoved the Jung back, with a grimace.

A _clunk _made her jump. The tumbler had hit up against the edge of the shelf, and was teetering, close to falling.

Sarah grabbed it.

Poor Andrew Lang. _The Red Fairy Book _now had a large splash of scotch spreading on its cover. She dabbed at it with her sleeve, then gave up. _The Blue Fairy Book_._ The Red Fairy Book_. _The Green Fairy Book_ … the first hint of Archetype mania – but now she'd grown up … One of these days, she'd have a garage sale …

The idea that Jareth was a fairy – Sarah wove her way back to her desk, and sat down, brooding. Too easy. But _what_, then?

And why had he come to her?

She gazed out the window. Her reflection glimmered in the glass, faint and ethereal.

Pale skin, just beginning to be lined, around the mouth, and the corners of the eyes – _I've grown up_ – Eyes that were guarded, beneath dark brows.

She _had _grown up. She had a career – a glance to her right brought the bulletin board to her attention – the photos of children from her study group. Pictures of former patients – of Toby, hugging a golden retriever and grinning – her father and her stepmother – her own mother, alongside a silver-edged playbill –

Sarah looked back out the window. Why now?

Revenge? Amusement?

_I suppose it could be entertaining enough _…

Her skin crawling at the memory of his voice, Sarah realized that she had absolutely no idea why he had come –

_An age-old bargain – one I have made with countless others. Some wanted knowledge, some wanted the world _…

Knowledge. Could that be it? Could this be like the Labyrinth, to her – another puzzle to put together, another mystery to solve, another knot to untie … could it?

_**Growing **__– or changing … I guess what I'm trying to say is that__I think it was a cool dream to have …_

The Labyrinth had changed her, irrevocably. It had marked her as a seal would clay. It had set her on the path to her current career, and, in her mind, her victory had been a turning point …

Could it be time for another?

Sarah stared out the window, until – she inhaled as her reflection shimmered, and vanished. She glanced up. A thick bank of clouds had drifted over the moon.

The window began to dissolve in silver streaks of rain.

Feeling strangely blank, Sarah left the tumbler on her desk, walked away and gave her teeth a cursory brush, and fell into bed. For a long time, she could not sleep; and then, when she did, she could not remember her dreams.

* * *

The next morning brought time-honored routine. Sarah jogged to the grocery store, and walked back with two paper bags. She walked to work, taking the long way in an effort to clear the scotch-induced cobwebs from her brain. At work, she checked in on her patients, and sat silently through the first departmental meeting of the day.

_Am I really going to do this?_

"Dr. Williams."

She turned. Dr. Michaels stood behind her chair, frowning to himself. "A moment of your time, please."

Sarah walked with him, up to the psychiatric ward. He swiped his I.D., felt for the doors with a practiced movement and eased through them, his cane clutched to his side. His mouth was tense; his nostrils pinched with – anger? Worry?

"Right here."

Sarah looked at Aaron, lying in a bed.

The boy's breathing was a shallow wheeze. His eyes, purplish-black around the lids, were closed. Electrodes ran from his temples to machinery in the corner. Aaron twitched in his sleep – grunting, whining like an animal – _wait _–

She stared at the monitor.

"How long has he been like this?"

A hesitation. Then: "For the last twelve hours."

Sarah whirled to Dr. Michaels.

"That's impossible!" She didn't know her own voice could sound that shrill –

"I know." The older man's own voice was weary. "By everything I have ever studied, or seen, this is impossible. The human mind cannot idle in REM sleep for hours upon end – at some point, the cycle must continue, or a breakdown will surely result –"

Her teeth were clenched. "So wake him up –"

Dr. Michaels stared at the direction of her voice. "We cannot. We've tried everything – it seems to be a sort of dream-coma." His face was sober. "I do not even have a term for it."

REM sleep. Sarah gnawed on her lower lip. The sleep of dreams. Part of the natural cycle between deep sleep and wakefulness – but the mind would always oscillate between REM and non-REM –anything else was unnatural –

Sleep deprivation drove the strongest insane. But too much REM – what would that –

Sarah caught a flash of light in the corner of her eye. Freezing in place, she flicked her gaze to the side, and saw –

– reflected in the beaten metal of a storage cabinet, a sweep of leather tatters and bejeweled velvet, glittering and fluttering in place – and a pair of eyes looking back at her, focused and intent –

She turned her head to get a better angle, and looked again. Nothing.

"– and there is nothing we can do but hope he will emerge in time. I will keep you on call for the next few days, with your permission, Dr. Williams."

"Of course," she murmured.

Dr. Michaels stumped away, flicking his cane before him. Sarah gazed at Aaron.

He mumbled something under his breath, and then his entire body tensed – and he shivered. Two tears slid down his cheeks.

Sarah closed her eyes, and turned to the door.

* * *

The rest of the day was normal.

At five o'clock, her appointments were done; all that remained were evening rounds and, barring a consult, the next hour was hers. Numbly, Sarah went to the on-call room. She dashed water on her face, and looked into the mirror.

_Are you going to help __**poor**__ little Aaron?_

"Shut up," she hissed. Her head was pounding.

She fumbled at the sheet on the on-call cot, and slipped off her shoes. A nap would help. Surely a nap would help clear her brain, help her focus –

Sarah slipped away into sleep. And dreamed.

– there was the Labyrinth, gleaming in the sun, its intricate coils and turns glittering like an tiled pattern on a marble floor –

_it's further than you think – and time is short –_

– she took a step down, and another, down down tumbling down the hill and she had sand in her shoes –

_come on, feet –_

– and there was the gate to the Labyrinth, ancient and dour – vines coiling around it, and one of the vines rippled and _changed _and reached out to her, and wrapped around her arm –

_hello – I like you – you feel like spring – you smell like the sun -_

– she looked into the gates – but they weren't gates anymore – they had changed into one immense, beautiful silver mirror, and she smiled at her reflection –

_hello - I'm Sarah who are you?_

– and at the silver snake coiling around her shoulder and stretching up to lick her ear –

_peek-a-boo –_

– and her reflection changed into Aaron – Aaron staring back at her, and crying – a snake wrapped around his throat and undulating through an eye socket into his skull – because he was a skeleton –

– she looked down. The bones of her hands were trailing strips of dried flesh. The chains at her wrists glittered silver and the snake bent to kiss her mouth –

"_God _–"

Sarah shot up in bed, bathed in a cold sweat. Her heart was hammering in her throat.

"Just a dream. Just a bad dream," she breathed, fighting for control.

She could still hear Aaron, crying.

_Am I really going to do this?_

She opened her mouth and spoke the words surprisingly easily – "Yes. Yes, I am."

– and, easily enough after all, the decision was made.

* * *

Sarah went through her evening rounds with resolve burning in her stomach. She checked over her patients, one by one. She gave Mrs. Johnston Risperdal. She gave Rachel Duvall Valium. She looked for Ben, but didn't see him – and then she found herself on the front steps of the hospital.

Shrugging her coat on, against the nip of the wind, she began to walk, staring at the pavement. Patches of rain still remained from the storm of the night before. In the light of the rapidly setting sun, the puddles looked more like dark red wine than water. A car horn made her glance up – she saw a truck bumping the curb in front of a bakery.

There was a park across the street. Sarah considered it, and made her way slowly through the crosswalk. She looked in through the locked gates at the first haze of green grass, at the ornamental fountain edged in gold by the lamplights just flicking on. Then she sat down on a bench at the gate, and stared across the street.

"You got the order _yesterday_, and you're telling me it's not ready?"

"It wasn't my fault – I don't know what went wrong, but you could break a tooth on the rolls – hard as stone –"

It wasn't a sound that alerted her to his presence, as much as a change in the air – a slight breeze and a strange electric charge – but then she heard a muffled sigh as he sat on the bench, next to her.

There was a long pause.

Then he spoke.

"Well?"

Sarah shivered in her coat at the chills that uncoiled down her back at the sound of his voice –

"Three nights. No more. And you can't make me do anything against my will. _You have no power over me_."

Jareth laughed softly. "You are so good to remind me. Of course I don't. I have no power to make you feel anything, say anything, be anything or _do _anything that you do not wish for. Is that not a comforting thought?"

She ignored his sly tone. "Then why are you here, if I didn't call you?"

"Ah, but we had an appointment."

"You still have no power over me."

"Yes … and that means that you will have to be all the more … _persuasive _with me, Sarah dear." She could hear the smile in his voice. "Doesn't it?"

Sarah felt like throttling him. She settled for speaking at a clip. "And you will stop tormenting children who have run through your Labyrinth, and lost. _All _of them."

She heard him inhale, and braced herself.

When Jareth next spoke, his voice was icy. "You ask a great deal of me."

"I'm not asking you. I'm **telling** you." She stared across the street, watching the bread truck drive away. "This is how it's going to be."

And then Sarah clenched her hands in her pockets as she sensed him move closer, and as he draped an arm behind her shoulders. His voice felt like a spider creeping over her earlobe.

"What an interesting person you have become, Sarah. Changed in so many ways, yet unchanged in essence. Still crusading. Still rescuing. We shall have to discuss this most _fascinating _part of your psychology, hmm?"

Sarah turned to glare at him, and her breath caught in her throat. His sunken eyes, so close, flamed at her from deep within his pale and twisted face. She took in his matted hair – _oh God is that something __**crawling **__in it –_ and dirty jacket, the sores on his jaw and mouth, and the grime on his hands –

Jareth bared his teeth in an ugly smile. "Still ready to persuade me, Sarah?"

She gagged at the sensation of his rank breath slithering over her face. "Why are you _like _this?"

A shrug, and a smirk. "Perhaps it suits my fancy?"

"Perhaps –" Sarah snarled – "_perhaps_ you're trying to make this as difficult for me as possible, you _bastard –_"

"Really, Sarah," Jareth drawled, drumming his fingers on the bench behind her. "All you have to do is _wish _that I appear more palatable, and it will be done."

"That's it?"

He smiled. "That's it."

"Oh, what a _relief_." She kept her voice high-pitched, in mockery. "Except – wait a second – if I did that, you might just decide that your beauty is only enhanced by your throne room, and then you'd take me _away _– **no**, Goblin King – I'm too old for your tricks – wait. Wait." Sarah felt her breath coming harder. "You're trying to distract me."

She watched him sneer. "Poor dear. Are you confused?"

Her temper flared. "You _won't _distract me. No more torturing children who have lost the race in the Labyrinth."

Jareth exhaled sharply, and took her hand. His fingers, long and spindly, were disturbingly hot –

"Shit," Sarah breathed, her doctor's instincts coming to the fore. She wrested her hand free and placed it against his forehead. "You're running a temperature –"

"Not at all, sweet." He plucked her hand away again, and interlaced their fingers. "Just the way I was made."

Sarah stared down at their fingers – her rosy ones, his white beneath caked filth –

"Aaron was our original negotiating point." His voice was oily. "As for the others … well … _persuade _me, Sarah." Her stomach lurched as he kissed her hand. "Seduce me to your point of view – that is true diplomacy …"

Swallowing, Sarah rose to her feet. She gripped his hand and tugged him to stand beside her.

"Let's get this over with."

Jareth sniffed. "I'm not sure I like your attitude."

"I'm _sure_ I don't like you, Goblin King. Deal with it."

They walked, silently, and side by side, down the street, and back past the hospital. Sarah looked at its doors, then peered at her companion, and fought an instinctive urge to bolt. If anything, he looked worse in lamplight than he had in the dirt of the alleyway and the dusk by the bench ...

The hospital faded into the gathering gloom. Four long city blocks past it, and they came to the cathedral – and there – Sarah felt her heart leap – there was Ben, sweeping the steps.

"Hello-o-o, Doctor!" He clapped his hand to his head.

She half-waved. "Hello, Father."

"Missed you at evening rounds!" Ben's voice was brassy, echoing on the stone as he whisked the broom to and fro.

"I know."

"And let's see – did you keep my commandment? Thou shalt not adorn thyself with any pretty thing, lest thou outshine Father Benedict Romani at the Wedding of the Century, yea, verily, four and twenty hours hence –"

He chortled, and slung the broom over his shoulder, and raised his head to grin at her –

– and Sarah saw him pause.

She glanced at Jareth – who was craning his neck to get a glimpse of the cathedral's spire in the darkness. The angle of his jaw was almost unnatural – Sarah shivered, and turned back to Ben.

Her friend was staring. He looked pale, in the light of the lamp at the massive cathedral doors. "Um."

Sarah blinked. In more than ten years, she had never known Ben to be lost for words –

"Sarah?"

His voice was hoarse. She tilted her head. "Yes?"

"Remember the wedding – there's –" he swallowed. "There's a wedding tomorrow night."

"Yeah, I know." Sarah gave him a wry smile. "I'm your moral support, and your designated prompter."

"Right …" Ben's voice trailed off.

Jareth had finished surveying the cathedral. He flicked his gaze over Ben, dismissed him, and then traced his fingers down Sarah's arm, and plucked at her elbow.

Sarah felt dread hollow out her gut.

"Night, Ben."

She walked away, Jareth trailing at her side. When Sarah looked back over her shoulder, she saw Ben staring after them both.

* * *

Sarah dawdled over the walk, already long enough, back to her apartment. But Jareth seemed content to match her pace, looking at the brownstones and fenced-in gardens with quiet interest, and watching her with eyes slitted, like a cat's. Soon enough, though, they were at the foot of her building. She fumbled with the keys, and opened the door. Jareth caught it, and held it for her; Sarah fought to ignore him as she walked up the steps. She suddenly felt conscious of his sheer _presence_ – of the way something about him, some vibration or echo, poured into the concrete and metal of the stairwell like water into a glass – he floated at her side like a shadow –

They reached her apartment. Sarah flung open the door, turned on the main lamp, and veered to the right immediately, taking refuge in her kitchen. Jareth padded into her living room on noiseless feet – she saw him look at the couch, and the overstuffed chair, her coffee table and her bookshelves –

He turned to one side and then went still, staring up at the painting above her mantel. Light sparkled on its simple golden frame, and reflected off the sheer glass covering it.

There was a long pause. Sarah busied herself with opening and shutting cupboards, first at random, and then – _so thirsty _– then to get a cup for some water –

"Very pretty." Jareth's voice was judicious. "Dali, isn't it? Have you had it long?"

Sarah saw where her fingers were white-knuckled around a glass that she had taken from the cupboard. "Not that long, no." What was it, again? She glanced at the painting, from her refuge beyond the bar separating the kitchen from her dining table. _The Last Supper_. A wispy combination of mountains, and the sea, and clustered, translucent disciples – a framework topped with a disembodied torso and arms that had always made her think of some divine helicopter –

"A friend gave it to me." _Ben_. She ran water from the tap, and filled the glass. "For my graduation present – when I got out of medical school."

"Ah." Jareth lapsed into silence, still looking at the print, his head tilted and his face intent.

Sarah carefully sipped some water. Then Jareth turned to her, and smiled – and suddenly every cell in her body recognized him as some bizarre, spidery, alien and _unreal _nightmare creature _in her home _– her stomach curdled.

"Do you –" her voice sounded feeble to her own ears. "Do you want some water, or something?"

Still smiling, Jareth shook his head.

"Fine." She turned to one side, and drained the glass of water, and turned back –

– and gasped in surprise, and dropped the glass into the sink; she heard it break but could not take her eyes away from Jareth's, from where he stood on the other side of the bar, within arm's reach, looking right back at her with those _eyes_ –

"I – I didn't hear you," she managed.

Jareth said nothing, but his smile broadened.

"_Damn _it," Sarah spat, looking down at the glass, and throwing a dishtowel over it. "Say something."

"What would you have me say?" His voice was low.

"I don't know. For God's sake," she glared at him – the smile had vanished from his face, and his eyes were hooded – "what do you want me to do?"

"Nothing you do not _want _to do, Sarah …" His eyes were suddenly hot. "That is the beauty of this entire situation. I have no power over you. Anything you do is from your choice alone."

She bit the inside of her cheek, seething. Then a sudden idea came to her.

"Fine. Professional courtesy, right? Riddle me this, Goblin King. I had a weird dream today – tell me what it meant."

Jareth spread his hands – _still filthy _– "Try me."

"It was –" Sarah looked away from him. "It had a bit of the Labyrinth in it."

"Hm." He sounded amused. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Oh, shut up and let me finish –"

"Sarah."

That lilt with which he said her name. How could she have forgotten it? _Sa-rah_. The same, from so long ago …

"Sarah. Princess."

She started, and took in a deep breath to protest, but he held up a hand. "Your name means princess, lovely –" the intimate tone made her skin prickle – "… surely I may call you by it?"

Sarah clenched her hands together, to keep them from shaking.

"Why not?" Her voice was brittle. "What the hell."

"Very good." Jareth spoke softly. "Now – show me your dream."

"What?"

"Sarah. Princess." His eyes, fixed on hers, were shadowed in the dirty pallor of his face – she took a deep breath and felt the floor beneath her _quiver_ –

"Show me your dream …"

The floor melted away. And then

– there was the Labyrinth, gleaming in the sun, its intricate coils and turns glittering like an tiled pattern on a marble floor –

_it's further than you think – and time is short –_

"Goodness. Did I really sound like that?"

Sarah started, and turned around where she stood – to see one image of Jareth, fading away with a clock over his shoulder – and another one, large as life and dressed in full Goblin King regalia, grinning at her.

"Jareth?"

"Yes?" He shook out his cape, and shadowed his eyes with one hand, gazing out over the Labyrinth.

"This is my dream." Sarah paused. "Isn't it?"

"Yes," Jareth breathed. "Yes, my dear. My beautiful princess – my clever, _brilliant _girl – you dreamed this. All of it …" He turned on the spot, arms outstretched, and his smile shone brighter than the sun. "Such consummate skill. Were I to turn green with envy on the spot I'm sure I would only fit _perfectly _into this color scheme –" he waved at the orange and russet sky, and laughed.

His voice buzzed in her ears. Sarah shook her head to clear it. "I wasn't up here the whole time, though. And I wasn't talking to you …"

"But I'm here now." Jareth laughed again, and caught her hand. "You invited me. Lead on!"

Sarah remembered, and then

– she took a step down, and another, down down tumbling down the hill and she had sand in her shoes –

_come on, feet –_

"How _adorable_ …"

"Shut up." Sarah grunted. "Now I've got sand in my shoes, and I think that's a rock – _ouch –_"

"So take them off." Jareth's voice was strangely giddy. His grip on her hand tightened.

It made sense. Sarah shrugged, and kicked off her shoes, and wiggled her toes in the sand. It felt heavenly.

"What next?"

"I think I turned," Sarah frowned, concentrating – and then

– there was the gate to the Labyrinth, ancient and dour – vines coiling around it, and one of the vines rippled and _changed _and reached out to her, and wrapped around her arm –

_hello – I like you – you feel like spring – you smell like the sun –_

"You do, you know."

Sarah blinked, from where she was looking at the snake, and turned back to stare at Jareth, who had both his arms crossed over his chest.

"I do what?"

"Feel like spring. Smell like the sun." Jareth smiled, slowly, and paced towards her. "It is like nothing I have ever experienced."

"Jareth …" She kept her voice calm. "I'm not sure I like snakes – in dreams, I mean."

"Why _ever_ not?"

Sarah rolled her eyes at his grin. "You know why not. Haven't you read any Freud?"

A snort. "What a pompous bore. Really, Sarah …" he trailed off, and lowered his voice to a whisper in her ear – "Sometimes a snake is just a snake."

Sarah blinked. The snake, undulating up and down her arm, looked up at her and nestled into the curve of her neck.

"And this one seems to like you. Charming girl."

"I'm not a girl, Jareth," she sighed. "Do you have to do the baby talk?"

"Not at all …" he murmured. Then, in one quick movement, he bent and kissed her throat.

Sarah jumped. "What was that?"

"That?" Jareth stepped before her, and took her elbows. "That was a kiss."

"But –" she fought for words. "That wasn't in my dream."

He gave her a sly look. "You did invite me along. And now it appears as though you are _changing _your dream. Such skill is rarely to be seen." He smiled, and leaned back against the gate. "What next?"

"The gates turned into a mirror." And they were – shining and rippling into silver, at Jareth's back.

"Oh?"

"But –" Sarah frowned. "I can't see my reflection, if you're blocking my view."

"Really."

"Yes. Really –" Sarah huffed, staring at him. "You're impossible. Move!"

Jareth's smile turned lazy. "Why should I move?"

"So I can finish my dream."

"Sarah. Princess." Her name rolled off his tongue; he seemed to savor it as he looked around, smiling. "You have an exceptional talent for weaving dreams … I wonder what use you will make of it …"

"What use?" Sarah frowned. "I analyze dreams already. I took History of Psychology – I –"

He flicked his fingers in dismissal. "Picking over the magic of sleep in order to piece together a meaning is a different thing altogether than _creating _those same dreams. Besides, when it comes to symbols …"

Sarah froze, as Jareth pushed off from the mirror, and took a step toward her. He reached to her shoulder, and uncoiled the snake from her arm.

"Sometimes a snake is just a snake, Sarah …"

Then silver blurred between his fingers, and instead of reptilian coils, a beautiful flower twined around his hand.

"And a rose is a rose is a rose …"

Jareth held out the rose to her.

And as she reached to take it, he wrapped the long, gloved fingers of one hand around her wrist, and drew her to him.

"You feel like spring …" he whispered. "You smell like the sun."

She stared into his eyes, beautiful, as blue as the sky and as depthless – and glowing with the gold and silver magic of dreams ... any closer and she would not be able to draw back from them ...

"I wonder what you taste like, Sarah …"

His lips were so close –

"I have wondered that for so long …"

Sarah stared, holding her breath, as he closed his eyes, and parted his lips to kiss her.

– it was so soft, and sweet, that she wondered how she had ever dreamed without dreaming this –

_you feel like spring – you smell like the sun – _

– he stepped in closer and traced the cool, gloved fingers of his free hand along the line of her jaw, tipping her head to a different angle, and her blood caught fire as he slid his tongue into her mouth _–_

_you taste like the beauty of a rose in bloom, and the ripest fruit from the tree in the middle of the garden – my beautiful dream weaver – look what I'm offering you –_

– she looked into the gates – but they weren't gates anymore – they had changed into one immense, beautiful silver mirror, and she smiled at her reflection

_hello _–_ I'm Sarah who are you?_

– and at the rose which brushed her ear with a petal and whispered –

_peek-a-boo –_

– and her reflection changed into Aaron – Aaron staring back at her, and crying – a figure stood before him and she could only see strands of shining silver hair and trailing leather and rotting velvet as a black gloved hand twined the rose around the boy's head and pressed the thorns into his eyes –

– she looked down. The bones of her hands were trailing strips of dried flesh. The chains at her wrists glittered silver and the rose turned into a snake and bent to kiss her mouth – at her mouth – Jareth was kissing her mouth – Jareth –

"_**Jareth **_–"

Sarah gasped, and tore herself away.

And opened her eyes – and she was back in her kitchen.

Shaking, she raised a hand to her lips.

On the other side of the bar counter, Jareth looked at her, wordlessly. His eyes were veiled.

"You –" Sarah choked. "You did that – you went into my dream."

"With your permission." His voice was low. "Yes. I did." A slow smile tugged at his lips. "Would you like to hear what it meant?"

"No." She felt her head shake back and forth. "I don't want to know."

"Ah, Sarah – princess –"

"And _don't _call me that!" Her voice cracked; she slammed her hands onto the counter and glared at him. "Stay _out _of my head. My invitation for you to come into my dreams is hereby _revoked_, permanently!"

He was silent.

Sarah looked down, to where her hands were shaking. She caught the dishtowel by its edges, in the sink, and carefully gathered the broken glass. Pulling the four corners of cloth together, she brought the glass to the trash can.

Then, unable to bear the quiet, she whirled on one foot and _snarled_.

"So what _now_, Goblin King? So sorry you won't be able to screw with my mind anymore – what _else_ will satisfy you?"

Jareth took a few steps towards her; she fought the instinct to back away. He raised one eyebrow, and sneered, and then dropped into one of the spindly chairs that circled the dining table. "You have a marvelous imagination, Sarah. I trust you can use it on this physical plane, even as you do in the world of dreams."

Sarah's gorge rose. She knew what he meant, but just _looking _at his face made her feel –

"_Poor _little Aaron …" the Goblin King whispered, peeking up at her through the matted hair falling over his forehead. His eyes glittered. "What will become of him?"

Biting down hard on her lip, Sarah walked to him. Then she raised one hand, and trailed it over his jaw. She saw his eyes drift shut.

_I can do this_.

She gritted her teeth, and bent her face to his, and brushed his mouth with hers –

She felt a piece of his skin flake off beneath her hand – and something from his lips _oozed _onto hers as she kissed him –

"_Fuck _–" Sarah spat, jerking away, and recoiling until her back hit the wall by the door.

Jareth laughed. "My thoughts exactly. Come, come, my dear …" He rose from his chair and walked towards her, grinning. "You're brave enough. You can see this through." She pressed into the wall as he leaned one arm above her, looking straight into her eyes, his own glinting with malice. "Think of the _children_."

"You son of a _bitch _–"

"Sarah." His smile turned cold. "I am nobody's son."

"Whatever you are," she ground out. "I am not kissing that disgusting mouth of yours again."

Jareth took her left hand in his free one. "And to think I just called you _brilliant_, my dear." He kissed her palm, and began to trace its contours with his tongue – her stomach roiled and she tried to yank her hand away, but his grip on her wrist was painfully tight. "Tell me …" Sarah squeezed her eyes shut as she felt her palm growing slick – "Tell me, Sarah …"

And he pulled her hand down to his shoulder, and then lower – and lower –

Sarah's eyes flew open – she jerked her face away from him, biting her lip.

"Sarah …" His voice drifted across her ear. "When did I ever imply that I wanted you to kiss my _mouth_?"

He rocked against her hand, and she swallowed, fighting to keep her voice calm. "In my dreams, I think."

A grating laugh. "Yes. In your dreams. But this is reality, isn't it?" Jareth moved her hand in his, slowly, and pressed the rest of his body against her. "Your choice of stark _naked_ reality – where I most certainly have no power over you … so _persuade _me, my dear …"

His mouth brushed over her cheek; she could feel the hot rasp of his quickening breath.

"Persuade me …"

Sarah closed her eyes.

_Am I really going to do this?_

_I can do this …_

She reached out to one side, and turned off the light.

* * *

.

**Notes**:

The whisper: "Sarah ... Princess" got stuck in my head thanks to Mrs. Mulligan in _Seeing the Shadows_, by **CailleachOidhche**.

Thanks to **thistlebush **and **Imbrium **for their keen eyes.

Chapter 4 may take a bit more time to appear. But appear it will, never fear. Please review!


	4. Chapter 4

**Note: M **for a reason, folks. Take warning!**  
**

**Chapter 4  
**

* * *

Light crept underneath her eyelids. Sarah shivered, and opened her eyes, to see her bedside table, pale and washed-out in the morning sun –

– and then her alarm clock began to blare.

She looked at the time. Eight o'clock, and work started at nine – _did I hit the snooze button? _–

And what had been that dream?

Blinking, Sarah flopped on her back to stare at the ceiling, and stretched –

– and gasped, despite herself, as her muscles sent up stabbing protests, and her nerve endings caught on fire –

"_Shit_," she breathed. She stumbled out of bed, her limbs stiff. She was not going to think about why they should be so – or why she winced when she straightened – or why she went straight to the shower without her normal morning coffee –

In the shower, Sarah soaped her knees. They ached. She refused to remember why. She ran a hand up one calf. There – that was where she had backed into her garbage can, before – _come, come, my dear – you're brave enough__– think of the children – __**persuade **__me – _she had knelt on the kitchen tile, in the darkness – and there – that was where his fingers had coiled into her hair and dug into her scalp –

Sarah pulled her wet hair to one side, and peered at her upper arm. No marks. Not one bruise. _How _–

Wincing, she probed at the inside of her mouth. There – her own teeth had cut her when she had bitten hard on her own lip after she had left her clothes on the floor but before he had pulled her down on top of him, his body like a bed of red-hot coals and sharp bones between her own flesh and the softness of her mattress –

Sarah shuddered, and deliberately scrubbed shampoo across her mouth and eyes. The sting brought her back to herself, the acrid taste washed away any memory –

She brushed her teeth twice. Pulled back her hair in a savage twist, and fastened it with several sharp bobby pins.

She threw on a bathrobe, and looked at the door. Jareth was gone – she had woken up alone, so he had to be gone – he wouldn't be lurking in the hallway, waiting to pounce– she had untangled herself from his arms after his breathing had evened out, after the second time – and she had slipped out of the bed trying to walk silently to get a bar of soap and scrub herself _raw_ in the sink if she had to –

Sarah dug her fingernails into her palms, banishing the memory. _He's gone_. _Sunset to sunrise. He __**has **__to be gone_. She looked at the sunlight filtering through the bathroom window, gathered her courage, and opened the door.

Nothing waited in the hallway – the hallway – she had made it to the hallway but then a floorboard had creaked behind her and she had whirled in a panic and then a hand had closed around her ankle and _pulled_ – she had hit the floor hard and heard a hissing laugh as he dragged her to him – _and where do you think __**you're **__going? _– and his mouth had slammed down on hers as if her answer had been something he could devour –

"_God_ –" With a gasp, Sarah felt for the knot she knew must be hidden beneath her hair, on the back of her head, from her fall –

– nothing.

Nothing. There was nothing there. And he wouldn't be there – he would be _gone_, because those had been the terms – those were what he held her to – but he had held her to the floor, pinned beneath him, as the oak that she had once tried so hard to polish turned slippery and a splinter that she had missed worked its way into her – _no _– _not going to remember _–_**not **__going to think about that _–

"_Bastard_ –" Sarah hissed. She strode down the hall, and flung open her bedroom door.

He _was _gone – the sun was shining through her window, falling across the bed like a benediction. Sarah stared at the rumpled sheets, feeling sick.

She gritted her teeth, and stripped the bed as quickly as she could. She walked to and from her small laundry nook without looking at the kitchen tile, or at the floorboards, _without _remembering, and took new bedclothes from the closet. Making the bed again did not take long. Neither did finding a bland outfit for the day, or taking the dry-cleaning bag in which her dress for the wedding fell in graceful folds. Sarah plucked out a pair of dress shoes at random, and tossed them in with the dress. She strode to her vanity, and opened her makeup bag without looking at the mirror –

– the mirror –

The mirror was glimmering with a pale, silver light, in one corner.

Her heart in her mouth, Sarah tentatively stretched out a hand. She tugged at a scarf piled between her jewelry box and the mirror itself.

A crystal sphere rolled out across the wood with a faint, ringing sound –

"_No _–" Sarah yelped, and jumped backwards.

The crystal came to a halt in the center of the rosewood – a feather drifted from – _where? _– from nowhere and brushed against it, falling to its side …

Sarah hugged her arms to herself, and heard her own teeth chattering.

"Are you –" She stared into the mirror. "Are you there?"

Silence.

A sudden rush of anger washed away her fear. "You think you can frighten me with the same old _stale _tricks, Goblin King?"

There was no reply.

Sarah felt like kicking herself for being so susceptible. Of course there was nothing there. It was only that she hadn't had any _sleep _…

"Well." She glared into the mirror. "_So _sorry to disappoint you. Oh, and I have a wedding to attend tonight, so _honey _–" she pitched her voice to a sickeningly sweet register – "if you could _please_ take out the trash, and pick up the rest of my groceries, and – for the love of all that's holy – _please_ take a shower, or get a haircut –" she let disgust permeate her tones " – or both. God knows you need it – _ouch –_"

Sarah felt tears spring to her eyes. She stared down – and pulled up one foot.

_Just a splinter_. She tugged out the sliver of wood, refusing to look into the mirror, and stuffed her feet into socks and shoes. Taking her dress bag from the bed, she walked out, slamming the door.

She gathered the trash from the kitchen, and left it at the curb on her way to work.

* * *

Work was normal.

_Does it show?_ Sarah wondered as she walked through the hospital. She felt as though she were treading on razor blades, wincing with each step. Didn't they talk about a particular glow? Perhaps a blaring light, or a billboard: _Hey everyone, guess who spent the entire night wrapped around a voracious figment of her imagination – and you'll __**never**__ guess what she __**did **__to it, everyone – watch for the sex tape, coming soon – _

Nobody said anything out of the ordinary to her. Same greetings, and farewells. Same stale sandwiches at the cafeteria. Sarah found herself gulping at boiling hot coffee, sweeter than she normally took it, to attempt to jolt herself awake on a consult at the NICU.

Dropping off the clipboard with a clatter, she glanced up, to see Ben at the bulletin board. _Ben_ – Sarah felt like running to him, and hugging him desperately – she settled instead for tapping his shoulder. "Hey, Father."

Ben turned to look at her. "Sarah?"

"Yes …" _Why isn't he – _"I said – hey, Father." She flicked at his clerical collar.

"Oh." His face was tight. "Hey, Doctor."

"What's wrong? Are you nervous about tonight?"

Ben shrugged. "Sort of." He turned his head, to look long at one of the few parents in the NICU over lunch. "I've been praying with her. Preemie's going to give up the ghost – there's no real hope left." His voice was quiet.

The woman – Rachel Duvall, Sarah saw – was hanging over the incubator, singing:

_You're a sweet little baby  
You're a sweet little baby  
Honey and a rock and the sugar don't stock  
Gonna bring a bottle to the baby._

Sarah felt bleak. "And she's not doing well either …"

Ben grimaced. "No. They'll probably be calling you in with a sedative for her, before the night's up."

"But I'm not on call." Biting her lip, Sarah looked at him. "The Wedding of the Century – remember?" Her voice sounded small, to her own ears.

"Yeah." Ben turned to look at the bulletin board. "You know, I was joking when I said that I didn't want you looking well, for the competition."

Sarah was silent.

"I mean it." He glanced at her. "Are you all right? You look awful."

"I don't know." Sarah shrugged, with an effort; her shoulders stung with the memory of – _hands weighing them down – his fingers clawing at her skin_ – she winced to herself. "I think I might be getting sick, or something."

"Ah."

Peering at her friend, Sarah saw that he was examining a memo on the board with great intent, as though it held a secret. He spoke, and his voice was determinedly casual.

"Who was that, last night?"

She licked her lips. "Who do you mean?"

A snort. "Who do I mean." Ben shoved his hands into his pockets. "The man you were with."

"Oh. He's … well, he's just – a friend." The words almost stuck in her throat.

"A friend." Ben's voice was skeptical.

"Yes."

"He didn't look very friendly."

Sarah stared at the bulletin board in her turn.

"I thought he might be a junkie, you know – he seemed the type. I was just about ready to offer him a place in our shelter –"

"And bring him back to Jesus?"

Ben gave a half-hearted laugh. "Yeah, well, that's the job."

"Ah."

There was a pause, and then Sarah turned, only to see her friend looking at her, intently.

"But Sarah – I know _I'm_ your friend ... and as one ... I'm telling you, that guy gave me the creeps."

"Ooh." Sarah mock-shivered. To make it a joke – it was one of the hardest things she had done – _because you know it's no joke – _with the memory of Jareth laying scalding kisses down her body – and whispering_ – let me do this to you, and this – you've always wanted me to do __**this **__– haven't you? haven't you, Sarah? tell me to do this – ask me to do this – _and then his fingers were on her thighs like straws rattling in the fire as they burned –

"I'm serious." Her friend took her arm; she could not hide her flinch.

Ben paused, and gazed at her. "Is there anything you want to tell me?"

Sarah gave him a level stare. "Time and place, Father Confessor."

"Sarah –"

"Fine." She smiled, tightly, and straightened her coat. "Don't wear the purple stole at the wedding. It clashes with the banner."

Ben bit his lip, as her words hung heavy in the air.

"Sorry." He tried to banter. "Purple's the color for Lent."

"Whatever." Sarah turned to leave.

"Hey –" Ben called after her. "You need anything, you tell me, O.K.?"

A stinging retort was on the tip of her tongue, but Sarah looked at his worried expression, and her heart softened. "Fine."

Then she left, without looking back. Rachel Duvall's voice followed her.

_Don't you weep pretty baby  
Don't you weep pretty baby  
She's long gone with the red shoes on  
Gonna meet another lovin' baby._

* * *

The sung prelude at the wedding was beautiful. Everything was beautiful. Sarah gazed around her, from her seat in one of the pews towards the back, taking in the polished stonework, the rich, jeweled tones of the stained glass – the modest displays of flowers and the picture-perfect bridal party … Everything was beautiful, and perfect. And she had left Mrs. Johnston raging at thin air, spit flying from her mouth – and she had left Rachel Duvall listless and wan, droning the lullaby in a dull voice – and she had left Aaron … Sarah closed her eyes. Aaron. Catatonic in his bed …

Sarah blinked back tears, and stood for the processional. There was Lyn, walking down the aisle, practically floating on her father's arm. Her face glowed - her freckles had been masked with concealer - and her hair was carefully contained in a gorgeous net and ornamented with pearls ... She looked for all the world like she had stepped straight out of _The Gold Fairy Book _- except Lang hadn't written a golden one ...

_And they lived happily ever after_. Sarah swallowed hard against the sudden lump in her throat, and carefully rearranged her limbs to sink back into the pew with minimal ache – and she would not consider why she ached, or why her muscles felt like water after a long day with no sleep – and why she hadn't gotten any sleep –

_So tired .._. She nodded off, and jerked herself back awake when Ben's voice rang through the cathedral. "The sister of the groom will read from the Song of Solomon."

A teenager – on the young side – trottedup to the lectern, and grabbed at the brazen eagle in order to stay balanced on her ivory heels. A ripple of amusement ran through the crowd.

Another brief murmur of laughter bubbled up when she began to read, her child's voice eager and high-pitched. "The song of songs, which is Solomon's. Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for thy love is better than wine. Because of the savor of thy good ointments thy name is as ointment poured forth, therefore do the virgins love thee. Draw me –" her voice squeaked – "we will run after thee: the king hath brought me into his chambers: we will be glad and rejoice in thee, we will remember thy love more than wine: the upright love thee –"

Sarah stared at the order of ceremonies in her hand. _We will remember thy love more than wine _– It had been a fluke, something so random that it had left both of them gaping at each other like fish – she had woken in Lyn's room the morning after her twenty-first birthday, and Lyn had held out a cup of coffee to her and had waggled her eyebrows, and Sarah had laughed and then groaned at her headache – and Lyn had giggled back and had bent down to her and kissed her –

The bridesmaid's voice was squeaking on. "Honey and milk are under thy tongue, and the smell of thy garments is like the smell of Lebanon –"

The memory rang through her mind, like a bell. They had both gone still – Sarah's skin had felt electrified with goosebumps – and Lyn had spilled the coffee, and backed away, her hand to her mouth and her eyes wide – and had run to her room and slammed the door.

They hadn't talked about it. They had pretended that nothing had happened, until two years ago – Sarah looked down at the program, and saw it shimmer as her eyes filled. She was straight – probably – mostly – _let me do this to you, Sarah – haven't you always wanted me to do this? – _she shivered – _definitely _– but she didn't want her best friend to be unhappy, and she had said so when Lyn got engaged to Joseph – and Lyn had screamed at her, and cursed her, and thrown her out of the house –

Ben cleared his throat. "And now, the matron of honor will read from Paul's First Letter to the Corinthians."

Even she knew this passage. Sarah felt her lips twist. The love chapter – an old wedding favorite – trotted out time and time again ...

An older woman, with faded red hair, looked out from the lectern and smiled. The familiar words began. "If I speak in the tongues of men and angels but have not love, I am no more than a crashing gong or a clanging cymbal …"

Sarah looked away, at the setting sun glowing through the western rose window, at the statues of saints slipping into shadow.

The words continued; different ones. Sarah blinked. They usually didn't read that far.

"But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became an adult, I put childish ways behind me. Now we see but a poor reflection as in a glass, darkly; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known …"

Sarah shivered. _In a glass, darkly … _The orb and feather floated across her mind; she closed her eyes.

She hardly heard the rest of the service. But she stood with the others, clapped with the others, as Lyn and her new husband beamed, and walked back down the aisle, and out the door.

Sarah walked to the back with the others, and sighed at the cool night breeze wafting across her face. She looked at Lyn, embracing friends and family, and then looked out at the street –

– and felt her heart turn heavy – turn heavy and sink – as she saw Jareth pacing up the sidewalk towards the cathedral, cutting a swath through the foot traffic.

His hair shone silver-gold in the pale light of the lamps.

_Wait_ – Sarah gulped. Last night – last night she could hardly – she hadn't been able to run her hands through his hair because it had been a matted mess – her fingers had pricked on a burr, and she had cried out and yanked them away when something had scuttled across her knuckles – Jareth had laughed, and had caught her fingers with his teeth –

"Here you are."

Sarah started in surprise, and took an instinctive step backwards.

Jareth had drifted up the stairs, and was looking at her, and smiling

"I picked up your groceries, dear." He dangled a bag from one hand.

Sarah felt her jaw sag; the words were surreal.

Jareth's grin widened. She registered the porcelain flash of his teeth – still crooked – and **sharp** –

Mutely, she stared at him. He looked different. Pale, and whip-thin, but his hair was shorter – parted, and combed ... and he was wearing an nondescript suit and tie. Ordinary clothing, ordinary haircut – but Sarah was reminded, horribly, of a local headline story of the year before – when a drunk had entered the lion enclosure in the zoo, and had put his baseball cap on the male's head – the newspaper had run a picture – the cap perched, absurdly small, over yellow eyes that had flashed from beneath the brim right before the big cat had ripped off the man's arm –

"So quiet, my sweet ... surely you're not _that _surprised?" Jareth tipped his head. "I only ever did as you asked. Although you took the garbage out by yourself – none left for me –"

"No." The words felt like splinters in her mouth. "I didn't take _all_ the garbage out."

Jareth registered her look of raging contempt, and he ran his tongue over his lower teeth, slowly, and gazed at her with eyes half closed. She hardly had time to take a shaky breath, before he darted out a hand, and snatched one of her own, and brought it to his lips.

"I hope you don't mind that I came to meet you."

Sarah felt numb as he stepped up next to her.

"I never knew I had a say in the matter."

Jareth laughed, surveying the milling crowd of people as he did. Sarah saw his eyes narrow as he looked at the heavy wooden doors to the cathedral – but then he turned his back on it, and threaded her arm through his own. She felt the heat of him through the layers of cloth; she swallowed.

"Congratulations," she mouthed the rote words at Lyn, and gave her a one-armed hug. Jareth rolled his eyes and glanced at his watch. Lyn was saying something; Sarah nodded mechanically, smiling as her eyes stung. Aruba? How lovely. I hope you'll be very happy. No, sorry, I can't come to the reception – I'm feeling a bit under the weather …

Jareth shifted his arm, and she stumbled down the steps next to him. Sarah looked back – Lyn was busy hugging a friend, and did not look after her, but there – she gulped – there was Ben, staring at her, his eyes wide and his face grey. He opened his mouth to speak; the groom cut across her line of sight, and began to shake Ben's hand enthusiastically –

"Wait –" Her voice was tinny, in her own ears.

Jareth turned back, and pinned her with his eyes. "Yes?"

Whatever she had begun to say evaporated; she settled on: "That was horribly rude –"

"Hm." He shrugged. "It would have been, had she noticed me."

Sarah felt a chill on her exposed arms. She clutched at her coat, and began to put one arm into it. "She can't see you?"

Jareth smiled. "For now, only you can, my dear." He helped her on with her coat, and laced up the toggles for her. Then he tapped her cheek with one finger. "Last night, and this night, I choose to show myself to you, and none other."

_But Ben –_ Sarah's thoughts rattled through her head. _Ben can see you –_

Jareth caught her arm again. "Shall I take you home?"

"Thanks, but I'll walk."

He clicked his tongue against his teeth. "You look as though you're about to fall over. I can have us there in the blink of an eye."

"No," Sarah retorted. "You're not going to magic me anywhere, Jareth –"

She stopped as he stared at her, his eyes strangely soft in the hard planes and angles of his face. It made her nervous.

"What is it?"

Jareth quirked his mouth sideways in a half smile.

"You used my name, sweet." He traced his fingers along her jaw. "I like the way it sounds, in the air of this world." His voice turned low, and intimate. "I like the way you say it."

Sarah jerked back from his touch. "Then you're not hearing it from me again."

He brought his face close to hers; Sarah closed her eyes and fought the urge to step away. "Now, now, dear heart – that bordered on being _unkind_. I never thought you lacking in kindness, or compassion ... quite the opposite, in fact. So won't you have mercy on your poor benighted _lover_ –" he savored the word – "and give me a kiss?"

"I'd rather climb to the top of that cathedral tower and **jump**, you bastard."

Jareth laughed. "What makes you think I wouldn't catch you?"

She flinched as he brushed his mouth across hers – a fleeting touch that hit her like a punch to the gut –

"No –" Sarah opened her eyes and stared into his own – from so close, she could see flickering gold and silver as she gabbled – "No – no, not here – not _now_ – I'm calling a taxi –" she darted past him – "I'll see you – whenever. You know where I live."

She half-ran to the curb and hailed a taxi idling across the street. It screeched across two lanes and to a halt in front of her; she shakily caught at the door, and bit back a protest as Jareth opened it. Then he smirked, and got in after her – Sarah opened her mouth to tell him to leave, and he cut her off.

"He won't notice me, Sarah. Don't fret so."

"Hey lady," a rough voice interrupted. Sarah shook herself awake; stared ahead at the driver. "Where to, lady?"

"Rowan." She gulped. "Rowan and Wright."

"Got it." The taxi peeled away. Sarah leaned back, closed her eyes, and did her best to ignore the goosebumps prickling up and down her arms.

"Lady -"

"What?"

"You mind I should play some music?"

Sarah turned her head before she opened her eyes, and stared out the window. The reflection of the interior was blurred – but she could see Jareth watching her, his image distorted in the dirty glass –

"No."

A crackle of static, and then noise blared from the speakers.

_Living easy, livin' free  
Season ticket, on a one-way ride  
Asking nothing, leave me be  
Taking everything in my stride_

The driver beat his head in time to the crashes of the guitar.

Sarah groaned under her breath, and flopped back from the window against the ratty seat cushion. "Dear God …"

Jareth flashed a look at her.

"I hate this song." She massaged her temples.

"Headache?"

"Mm-hm."

"Come here."

She stiffened, and did not move.

"Come_ here_, Sarah." He let one arm fall around her shoulders, and reeled her in to his side. Jareth raised one hand to her forehead – his skin was hot. "My poor dear – did I keep you up too late last night? Or –" he dropped his voice to a whisper, "Did I hurt you? ..."

Sarah closed her eyes; his tone was insinuating, and low. She felt his lips brush over her eyebrows, and cringed at the quiver in her stomach.

"Ah, I did, didn't I?" His lips moved against her earlobe. "Shall I tell you what I want to do to you tonight, Sarah? I do not want to wait one minute after you close the front door – I want to pin you to the wall and fuck you until you cannot _move_ –"

Her mouth went dry. "You have –"

"I know, I know – I have no power over you," he mocked. "So let me tell you what I want _you_ to do to _me_ – and perhaps you will allow me to reciprocate, hmm?"

Jareth's low, musical voice was a torrent of obscenity in her ear all the way home.

* * *

The stairwell seemed to whisper with an echo of his presence – a sibilant voice all its own –

Sarah cursed, and leaned against the banister. It was harder to walk up the stairs than it had been the previous night. She had already stopped for breath twice. The entire time, Jareth hovered solicitously at her elbow.

"Such stubbornness is completely unnecessary. Will you at least let me –"

"No." Her voice was flat.

He laughed as he watched her stumble. "Really, Sarah – you didn't even let me finish …"

_Why is this so difficult?_ Sarah grabbed the banister, gritted her teeth, and climbed the final flight of stairs. "Different words, same meaning, Jareth. I've heard it all before."

He subsided into amused silence, and watched her unlock her door.

Sarah staggered into her apartment, dropped her purse and her coat in a heap, kicked off her shoes, and walked stiffly to her bedroom, feeling Jareth tread silently behind her. She did not turn on the light. _Why bother? _

In her room, the crystal orb was glowing faintly, in front of her mirror.

Sarah saw her reflection; her face strained and pale, her eyes wide. Jareth stood behind her. He smiled; his lips were thin and crooked up to one side. She felt his hands at her hips, and she closed her eyes. She could see the light of the crystal through her eyelids.

"What is it?"

His breath was hot against her ear. "It's a present."

Sarah gulped. "I thought it might be."

"Yes –" he eased open a clasp at her back, and his hands slipped under the silk garment, his long fingers coiling into her waist. She squeezed her eyes shut even more tightly. "But you never did take it, when I offered it before – and you still don't plan on doing so, I assume?"

The dress fell to the ground; she bit her lower lip as he began flicking her undergarments aside. She didn't know how he was doing it. Did not want to know how he was doing it – as easily as she would shuck an ear of corn – she could feel scraps of cloth float down against her legs like feathers – Sarah winced, and thought again of the crystal and feather by her mirror –

He began tracing patterns on her bare skin. His fingers left trails of heat, somehow, like sparks from a fire coasting through the air.

"You won't take my little present, Sarah? Such a tiny, insignificant thing?" His voice was sly.

"Not likely."

"Alas." Jareth abruptly removed his hands; her eyes flew open at the sudden drop in temperature on her skin, and she stared directly into the mirror.

_Now we see but a poor reflection as in a glass, darkly; then we shall see face to face._

He wasn't looking at her; he was staring into space, meditatively, as he shrugged off his suit jacket and unknotted his tie. He began work on the shirt's buttons; then flicked his eyes to hers, in the mirror.

_In a glass, darkly ..._

Jareth's voice was low: "See something you like?"

Her mouth was dry. He looked different – _so different –_ than yesterday – now he was closer to the polished-ivory idol of her dreams – with an effort, she shrugged. "Nothing I haven't seen before."

He finished with the buttons, and slipped the tie from his collar, and wrapped the length of cloth around one hand. "I seem to remember you keeping your eyes shut for most of the time."

Sarah held still as he looked her over. "So what if I did?"

Jareth sighed. "Well, it's not very flattering … not very _persuasive_." He gave her a reproachful look in the mirror. "I might as well just fly back to my lonely home, and let your poor little Aaron shiver his little life away in his padded little cell –"

"Shut _up_."

He was silent, and smiling. She caught the glitter of his sharp teeth in the orb's light.

Sarah turned to face him, gritting her own teeth in anger. "What will it take, you bastard? I want you gone from his life, and I want you gone from mine – forever."

"I've told you what it will take, Sarah …" He hissed her name. "_Persuade _me."

"I don't want to persuade you," she croaked. "I want you to leave."

His mouth curled in contempt. "Such a weakling, and only after one night –"

"I'm not weak!"

Jareth sneered. "Prove it."

"Prove it?" Sarah heard her voice skirl upwards. "Prove it?! Fine." Before she could think to stop herself, she held her hands out in front of her. "No taking me away permanently, nothing _permanent_, but tonight –" she shoved his chest – "Tonight, you do whatever the hell you want."

Jareth was still. Then he tipped his head to one side, and his eyes gleamed.

"Whatever – the hell – I want?"

He slipped the tie around her wrists, looping it between and around them both, in a complicated pattern, as he gave her a challenging smile.

_Can't back out now._ Sarah closed her eyes, and opened them, staring directly into his. "Yes." She tilted her chin up in defiance. "Impress me, Goblin King – or try to impress me. I know it's difficult for you, but –"

The words caught in her throat as she gasped in pain. Jareth had yanked the tie taut, and it cut into her skin –

"Dear me, Sarah – I think you may have said the wrong thing …"

She blinked back tears – _don't give him that_ – _don't you dare cry -_

"Just get it over with, you son of a –"

He backed her against the side of her bed in two long strides; Sarah winced as he dug the fingers of one hand into her upper arm –

"Could you please not manhandle me?"

"Seeing as I am not a man …" Jareth smirked at her, and then swept one hand over the bed in a parody of courtesy. "Very well, my beauty – if you would be so good as to recline?"

Sarah sat – _don't let him see you get upset_ – and lay back, avoiding his eyes, and shifted against the pillow, trying to find a comfortable spot – and her heart flew into her throat as Jareth matter-of-factly took her arms, pulled them above her head, and began knotting the tie to the headboard. She caught one glimpse of her own body, pale and stretched out across the bed in the glimmering light, before she closed her eyes.

"Get rid of that light."

"But why?" His voice mocked her. He pulled at the tie to test it – it held, and then Sarah felt his fingers trail down her arms. She kept her eyes shut.

"I don't want any light."

His laugh was quiet. "But I do, Sarah ..." She heard him kneel by the side of the bed, and his low voice flickered against her ear. "I want you to _see _what I do to you."

"Please –" she whispered, feeling the slow churn of fear quicken.

Jareth was silent – and then Sarah felt one arm slide under her shoulders and the other around her waist. Then his mouth brushed against hers.

"Persuade me, my dear …"

Sarah exhaled, shakily. His lips were thin – but soft – and all she would have to do was move forward an inch, maybe less –

"_Persuade _me …"

_Just do it – get it over with_ – she thought to herself, and she swept aside another voice shrilling a warning in her mind. Then she tilted her head, eyes still closed, and caught his lips with hers, and kissed him.

Her first thought was that he was not being much help. Sarah darted a glance at him, from beneath her eyelashes; she saw nothing up close except the pale skin of his face, and a strand or two of his hair – but he held his lips immobile against hers, and she remembered – _persuade_ me –

_**Persuade**__ him?_ Sarah felt a bubble of anger work its way from her heart up her throat. Something was prickling at the base of her skull. _Arrogant, entitled son of a_ –

She bit down on his lower lip, and heard him inhale sharply. _How's that for persuasion?_

Something was strange. His lips were warm, but almost too warm – she felt unease trickle down her spine –

_Never mind that – just get it over with …_ Sarah trailed her tongue against his mouth – and the unease turned into a sudden surge of equal parts fear and desire as he parted his lips and kissed her back.

She felt his breath coast across her cheek, and tasted something strange – bitter, almost – as he in turn explored her mouth. It was a lazy kiss, and dark; erotic and repulsive, and _alien_ – Sarah felt the hand at her waist move up, and drift across her breasts; she jerked like a fish on a line –

Jareth broke the kiss, and tipped his head back, and stared into her eyes.

_Don't let him see you're afraid –_

Sarah bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep her voice from shaking.

"Turn the light out."

His lips twisted in what might have been a smile, on any other face.

"As you wish."

Jareth bent his head to her throat as the light flickered and died.

* * *

Sarah blinked, and stared up into the comforting darkness. She focused on breathing. _Just breathe._ In and out. In and out. _Stay calm. _

"Did you enjoy the wedding, dear?"

She fought to keep from shivering; his tone was almost conversational – in contrast to – she twitched – in contrast to the fact that he was alternately kissing and nipping at her neck. Then he paused, and his voice was low and dulcet.

"You may not believe it, but I have been invited to weddings, in my time – although most I could not attend, due to unfortunate choices of venue." His mouth slid over her collarbone; she swallowed hard. "And you would not believe the things I have seen, Sarah! It used to be, you understand, that the bride would be purchased with livestock, or money outright –" he nipped at her shoulder – "and then there was the lovely custom of the bride kissing her new husband's feet –"

"I thought –" Sarah tried to speak; it was difficult. Her mouth was dry.

"Yes?" Jareth trailed his mouth beneath her jaw, and kissed her pulse. "What did you think, precious thing?"

"Well –" One of his hands was gliding over her breasts; she fought to keep her voice level. "I thought it was nice -"

"_Nice_ ..." He breathed out over her neck, and lowered his mouth to where his hand had been; Sarah bit back a cry and felt a stab of pain in her wrists, where they were bound – she had jerked her arms, instinctively, but she couldn't move them, to bring them to his hair and hold him there and make himkeep _going _–

"Oh, I will, Sarah –" Jareth purred; she realized she had moaned those last words aloud, and felt her cheeks flush in the darkness. "But please, you must continue as well. You thought it was _nice_ –" he brought his other hand from her back and caressed her with both – she fought to keep her body from arching into his touch –

"Shall I tell you the _nicest _part of older ceremonies? It involved the groom binding his bride's hands – sometimes with grass, sometimes with rope – to keep her spirit in his world," he kissed one side of her face, "or as a sign of authority," he kissed the other, "or as both …"

"Thank God –" she croaked.

Jareth stopped. "For what?"

"For the twenty-first century." Her voice sounded feeble, to her own ears.

She felt his breath coming harder against her mouth. "The twenty-first century. Some essentials have not changed, even through these many years, Sarah. Your little friends were so pathetically eager to be wed and in bed, the fools, that they bowed and scraped and did whatever they were told. And they will keep on bowing and scraping their entire lives, for fear of their mental picture of a doddering old man on a cloud."

Sarah could feel his lips curl back from his teeth in a sneer – but then he kissed her again, and she tasted the same strange bitterness; it fled from her mind, though, as he slid his tongue over hers and she groaned –

He slipped away, and trailed down over her throat, and lower, back to where his hands still caressed her body.

Sarah could hear practically nothing in the darkness – nothing except her own breathing, and the brush of his hands and the sound of his mouth on her – and then his voice again – quietly vicious –

"Were all the flowers suitable? The groom sufficiently gallant?"

"The flowers were fine," she gritted out between her teeth. "Her boyfriend – husband – I still think he's a – a –"

"Hm?" Jareth's voice vibrated through her chest.

"– jerk –" Sarah sucked in her breath. She didn't want his hands to stop; she could feel a pulsing in her stomach, settling lower, and she twisted her hips against the scratchy blanket – wanting _friction_, wanting _something_ – "He's a jerk – he tries to control her –"

"And you do not care for that?"

She squeezed her eyes shut and felt herself shudder, and tried turning on one side, tried pushing her body up into his caress; her arms wrenched and she fell back on the bed –

"No –" she spat. "I don't."

"Then I must confess myself confused, dear Sarah." Jareth drawled. "You do not care for controlling men – yet here you are. Don't you find your current – posture – somewhat contradictory?"

He bit her, and she gasped. "You tricked me into this, you _bastard_ -"

A harsh laugh. "I did nothing of the sort. You _gave _me this, and precious –" Jareth ran his tongue over where he had bitten her, and she felt her stomach clench. "You're the analyst, as I recall. Tell me – what does this entire situation say about your psychological makeup?"

The last words tripped mockingly over her skin. Sarah felt tears sting her eyes. It wasn't enough that he was mauling her like some animal in heat – he had to humiliate her as well? _No – I won't let him win –_

**_Persuade _**_me – _his words echoed through her mind – _He wants to play? Fine._

"I have no interest in discussing psychology right now, Jareth." _Try to sound bored_.

He paused, obviously taking in the change of her voice. She could feel the side of his face, where it rested on her stomach; the angles of his cheekbone and jaw pressed into her flesh.

"Hmm." It sounded like there was gravel in his throat. "Well, then …"

Sarah waited, catching her lower lip in her teeth.

He lifted his head from her body; his open shirt fluttered over her. "What _would _interest you?"

_Here goes_. "I think you know."

"No – I don't think I do." His voice was malicious. One hand rested, just beneath her breasts, and he brought the other up to smooth over her hair. "Won't you tell me, Sarah dear? Tell me what you … want."

"Does it even matter?"

She could practically hear him grin. "Of course it does … You may have given me _carte blanche _for the night, just now, but it would be insufferably rude of me to ride rough-shod over you the _entire _time – wouldn't it?"

Sarah tried to control her breathing. Her lips stung, and her breasts ached – and she wouldn't put it past him to just stay there and smirk, until she _begged_ him tofuck her – he would love that, the _bastard –_

_Well, why not?_

"Jareth …" She made her voice sound throaty, and pushed up into his hand on her body.

His fingers tensed. "… Yes?"

_I can do this._

"I want you to fuck me."

A long pause.

Then anger stabbed her, as Jareth laughed. "Perhaps, dear – but your tone is not convincing."

"You _bastard –_" Sarah hissed, then yelped as he tangled his fingers in her hair and pulled her head back.

"Say it again."

"What –" Her words were trapped as his mouth caught hers; then it was only hot, slick _dizziness_ – she couldn't think –

Jareth bit her lower lip, hard, and snatched his mouth away. "You heard me. Say it again, Sarah. Convince me. _Persuade _me."

Sarah tasted blood, and felt his hot breath an inch from her lips.

"I want you –" Her face burned.

The air in the room stifled her – it seemed to crackle with something scalding –

Sarah tugged against his grasp in her hair, and felt her face slide along his; she felt what must be his cheekbone, so there was his ear –

_Do it –_

She whispered: "Fuck me, Jareth. I want you to _fuck _me."

Jareth was immobile – but she thought she heard his breath catch, just slightly –

Sarah bit him.

She had just enough time to blink, before he slammed her back into the bed with his arms, and then his upper body was pressed over hers, the fabric of his shirt bunching painfully where it lay open, between them – she felt a button dig into her skin –_ that's going to leave a mark_ –

Her teeth chattered, though she was not cold; she felt light-headed in the heat of his body, as though she had been tossed into a furnace.

"My dear Sarah –" he crooned, his voice laden with malice and glee – "_Anything_ to oblige you –"

"You –" she managed, before he fell on her mouth again, like a bird of prey – ravaging with his jagged teeth – _**shit **__that hurt –_

And then Sarah jerked with surprise when the heat vanished, suddenly, as Jareth sat up, and stepped away from the bed.

She strained to see, in the darkness, but could not – though she knew he was still there. She could hear him breathing.

Then she heard the _clink _of a belt buckle, and a rustle of fabric.

"I wonder …" His voice floated out of the dark, and Sarah felt her breath catch, as the words drifted over her body like feathers ... "I wonder if your newlywed friends have gotten this far yet, my precious thing."

She licked her lips, ignoring the blood. "I would guess –" her voice wavered, she steadied it. "I think it's pretty new to both of them."

"Ah. True to tradition – and the demands of a dead god." A hissing noise of contempt. "All that waiting, when they could have just savaged each other in private long ago, and gone their separate ways."

"Some would call it romantic, you know."

There was silence, and then Jareth laughed. The sound made her skin crawl.

"Romantic. _Romantic_. When the left hand knows not what the right hand is doing …"

A finger landed on her chin, out of the dark; she flinched in surprise.

Then she shuddered, as he licked her jaw – and whispered in her ear. "Can you imagine the sheer _tedium_ for your poor friend? When her dear husband can't find her clit _or _her cunt, even with a map?"

The darkness vibrated with his voice.

Sarah felt ice – _fear – _trickle down her spine.

Then she felt his hands ghosting down over her body – on her legs – moving them – and she felt his own body settle against hers –

– _wait _– _**what **__was he going to –_

"How long do you think it will take that romantic bridegroom, Sarah, to figure out how to do _this?_"

Sarah screamed –

* * *

.

Evil cliffie, I know. Also, I stole one specific line of Jareth's from a scene near the end of _The Summer Tree_, by Guy Gavriel Kay.

You read? Please review!


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

* * *

Somebody had been screaming. Sarah blinked awake, and swallowed with an effort – _why is my throat sore _– 

It had been an eerie and fearful dream. She had heard a voice crying out – cries that continued until the voice had choked on a gag, and another voice had whispered – _cat got your tongue? _–

And Sarah sat up in bed with a yelp as the clock alarm went off –

_cat got your tongue, Sarah?_

Sitting up had been a mistake. Sarah turned her head on her neck, slowly, to look at the time – _eight o'clock _– She clenched her teeth, refusing to acknowledge everything that _hurt _–

_Just make it to the shower._

She clambered out of her bed, and fisted her fingers in the bedclothes, without looking at them. She tore off the sheets, and the blanket, with trembling hands. The first thing she would do on Saturday – _tomorrow _– the _first_ thing – involved throwing them in the washer with a quart of bleach. No, throwing them in the trash. No – she inhaled – she would find an empty dumpster, and throw all of the bedding in, and _burn_ it.

Sarah grabbed a handful of clothes at random, and walked unsteadily to her bathroom. She bypassed the mirror, and stood beneath the shower, letting hot water pour over her body.

It was too hot – she reached forward, shaking, to adjust the temperature, and steam roiled around her neck – and it felt just as it had after he had fallen forward on her, his hot, ragged breath coasting over her throat, gradually slowing, and – _really, Sarah, you'll wake the neighbors _– and she had tried to speak, but couldn't, and he had paused, and murmured – _poor dear – cat got your tongue, but I've got the rest, haven't I?_

_haven't I?_

Sarah squeezed her eyes shut, and bent forward, to let the water hit the back of her neck.

A mistake – because then she could feel how the tendrils of heat slid over the bumps of her spine, just as his fingers and his voice had when he had said – _perhaps something more comfortable for you, then? _– and he had reached and twisted the tie, and pulled her hands away from the headboard, and brought them in front of her, still bound, as he shifted to sit behind her, and lifted her up and eased her into his lap, and tugged her hair back away from her face, and kissed behind her ear –

_be easy – you have wanted this for so long, haven't you? haven't you Sarah?_

All the blood had rushed back into her hands, tingling and painful – and she had felt her own sweat sliding down her temples into her hair –

Her hair. Drenched with sweat, where it had caught between their bodies and tangled when they moved together, and where it had stuck to her mouth with saliva and to her cheeks with tears, her hair had been a mess –

Sarah turned the water over to cold, and grabbed the shampoo. Her hair was still a mess.

She washed, and pulled a comb through her hair – _not a mess anymore _– and put on her clothes, keeping her eyes determinedly away from the bathroom mirror, even though it was obscured by steam.

Nothing had changed when Sarah went back to her room, even – _there_. There – the same crystal, and the feather –

Carefully, she looked into the mirror above her vanity.

Sarah felt her skin tingle – _oh God there's something there – he's there – _She could _feel_ something – _it's him _– looking back at her.

"I know you're there."

Her voice fell roughly into the silence.

The silence was a waiting one.

"I've changed my mind, Jareth." The tingling turned into a ripple of gooseflesh as the room went cold. "I want you at the hospital tonight, so you can free Aaron **while I watch**." She gritted out the words. "I don't trust you any further than I can throw you, and I want to see you keep your promise. And then you'll get your precious third night – you understand?"

Glaring at the mirror, Sarah snatched her concealer and smeared it beneath her eyes, trying to cover up the rings of sleeplessness.

She thought she heard him laugh.

Sarah bit her lip, and went to the pile of crumpled bedding, and took the blanket. She threw it over the orb and feather.

A weight seemed to lift from her shoulders. She breathed out in relief.

"So." She felt almost giddy. "You can probably still hear me, so tonight – at the hospital – you had better be there."

Silence.

Then the blanket caught fire.

Sarah screamed in shock. "No – NO!"

The flames crackled in reply.

"STOP!"

The edges of the vanity began to blacken.

"Please, Jareth – STOP it!!"

And then the fire vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

Ashes floated down to her carpet.

Dimly she heard the hall smoke detector beep.

"You son of a bitch," she breathed. "You fucking **bastard**."

Sarah snatched her purse from the vanity, and left. She only looked back once. When she did, she could taste salt on her lips - salt from her own tears.

* * *

_I wonder if it shows … _Sarah thought wildly as she walked into the hospital. _Guess what, everyone: last night, I was tied to a bed by some beautiful nightmare __**thing**__ that whispered things to me, and did things to me that you wouldn't believe – and I screamed so loudly that he gagged me with my own hair – _

Nobody said anything out of the ordinary to her. Same greetings, and farewells. Same stale sandwiches at the cafeteria. Sarah passed through consults, and meetings, in a daze, feeling as though she were on the other side of some barrier between herself and reality …

She was just tired. Just so _tired_, because she had hardly slept – and Sarah felt her eyes drooping closed as she walked down a hallway, and then rounded a corner –

"Oof!"

A clatter of clipboards and a _swish _of paper, and Ben's charts were all over the floor –

"Hey Ben," Sarah rasped through her sore throat, and bent to pick up the charts. "Sorry about that."

"Sarah?" His voice was quiet.

She looked up. Her friend's eyes were wide. "You look like absolute hell."

Sarah forced a smile. "Nice to see you, too."

"No –" Ben's lips were pale. "I'm not kidding. What's going on?"

"Ben –"

"The back of your neck, Sarah, has black and blue fingerprints on it." His voice was clinical. "I saw them when you were picking up those papers, just now."

"Are you kidding?" She straightened – _it hurts _– and yanked her hair to one side. "What the fuck are you _on_?"

There had been _nothing _in the mirror – not a mark, not a bruise – she would swear on a stack of Bibles that there had been _nothing _there …

She felt Ben's breath on her neck; her stomach twisted into a painful coil and she shivered.

"Oh," he mumbled. "Sorry. I guess it was just a trick of the light."

"What a _funny _trick." Sarah bit down on the inside of her cheek. "Can you let me by, please?"

"But Sarah –" Ben looked at her, doggedly – she recognized the set of his jaw, the same from when he had slogged through essays and problem sets – "You look like you haven't slept in days. _What_ is going on?" His eyes narrowed. "Is it that guy?"

She met his gaze evenly. "It's private, is what it is."

"Private?" he said incredulously. "Private? You're my friend, and if someone's hurting you, I want to know about it so I can kick his ass!"

She forced a laugh. "What a chauvinist. For all you know, I'm getting initiated into the female wing of the Bloods."

Ben looked at her, his face grim. "It _is _that guy, isn't it? I saw him on the steps after the wedding –"

Sarah felt her smile turn brittle. "Cleans up well, doesn't he?"

"Sarah – you need to get away from him."

She glared. "You're a little possessive for a celibate _priest_, aren't you, _Father_?"

"No – I just –" his voice was a stammer. "I can't describe it. That guy is scary – I don't know what it is – but –"

_You can see him_ – Sarah felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

She forced her voice to remain even. "But what?"

Ben looked over her shoulder. "It's stupid … but …" His own shoulders slumped. "You wouldn't believe me."

"Wouldn't believe what?"

"I – I –" He took a deep breath –

His pager went off with a loud clangor.

Sarah's heart was thumping in her ears.

Ben looked back up at her, from the device in his hand. His face was set in unhappy lines. "I have to go."

"What wouldn't I believe, Ben?" she whispered.

He looked away. "I'll tell you about it later. Right now –" he tapped the pager. "NICU mom needs the chaplain."

"O.K." Sarah felt cold.

Ben walked away, then turned back. "Sarah – I'll get you some coffee – come and meet me after Compline. It's right in the chapel, you know? Eight o'clock."

"Fine."

_Wait –_

Ben was gone. Sarah bit back a sudden laugh that she knew would sound unhinged.

_I've just made a double date –_

* * *

Staggering into the on-call room, Sarah made it to the cot before her legs gave out completely. 

If she had to pinpoint the exact date her fever, or sickness, or _whatever_ began, she would have to zero in on two days ago – Tuesday night, when she stayed up to drink scotch, and slept without dreams, but went through the next day feeling as though her head were stuffed full of cotton wool – or maybe it had only been after she had not slept – could not sleep – for two nights – two full nights when she had taken him to her bed – her own _bed _–

Sarah closed her eyes and fell back onto the pillow. Her bed. She had taken him to her bed. She tried to round up her thoughts; they were scattering, running for cover in the glare of memory – as she opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling through a haze, her head pounding, just as her pulse had beaten in her hands as the blood had flooded back into them, when he had kissed behind her ear – _be easy – you have wanted this for so long, haven't you? haven't you Sarah? _and then he had kissed the back of her neck and had slid his hands over her body –

_Sarah_ – he had whispered. _My Sarah. Princess _–

She had been too hoarse to speak loudly, but had managed a croak– _no don't call me that _– _I told you not to call me that _–

_Ah _– Jareth's fingers had stilled, one hand spread over her collarbone, the other at her waist, and then his voice was almost too quiet to be heard – _You would not have your dreams, Sarah?_

– _no _– Sarah touched her fingers to her neck, at the memory of her jerking her head in a painful _no – no dreams – no stay out stay out of my dreams –_

_Your dreams … _He raised his hand and tilted her face to the side, and to the back – pain stabbed down her neck – and kissed her slowly, lingering on her mouth as if she were something to be savored – _Your dreams are your glory, your dreams are your gift, my jewel, my Sarah – _Another kiss. Sarah had not been able to see him in the dark, but had felt his fingers, smooth as silk and burning hot, trace her jaw – _My dreamer_ _…_

_No – _Her throat had felt raw. _Stay out _–

Sarah had felt, rather than heard, his low laugh – breathed out against her lips as he slid his hand back down to join the other at her waist –

_Stay out? _Jareth's mouth had nudged hers in the dark – _I think not. _

_Bastard_ – she had hissed, clawing at his interlaced hands with her nails, as far as her fingers could stretch from where her own hands were bound together – _Stay out of my dreams, Jareth –_

He had rested his chin on her shoulder; Sarah could feel flyaway strands of hair brushing her cheek. _Let me in, Sarah_.

_**No **__– I won't – stay __**out **__of my dreams –_

_Your dreams? _Jareth had moved one hand, and she gasped before she could help herself.

_Is that what they're calling it, these days?_

Sarah had gone breathless – with what she realized later had been rage – and had snarled, and her voice had _hurt _– _**fuck **__you you dirty ugly __**bastard**__ –_

_Oh yes, please _– and his voice had rippled with laughter, and malice – _Let me in, Sarah – _

She had taken in a deep breath to curse him again, and then had _yelped _as he bit her shoulder – she knew her skin had broken – she felt the sting – _You have rather proved your mettle, Sarah – now do you want me to silence you again, or do you want to relax – _he sucked at the bite and she squeezed her eyes shut, even in the darkness –_**relax**__, because you have wanted this for so long, haven't you? haven't you?_

And a wash of pleasure had made her spine uncoil, and she had leaned her head back against his shoulder and let her body go limp, feeling her bones turn into liquid as he ran his hands down her thighs and back up again and – _there – that's it – just relax _– _let me do this to you, Sarah – and this – and this – you've always wanted this –_

_Yes – _she had not recognized her own voice – _please yes just please – don't stop –_

_No? _And Jareth had whispered, his breath scorching her ear – _What do you want me to do, Sarah? What do you want?_

The answer had pulsed through her head, and her body, from her own memory – _Fuck me, Jareth –_ _just fuck me __**please **__oh don't stop oh __**God **__–_

And she had heard him snarl, and he had clapped a hand over her mouth before thrusting into her from behind and she would have cried out but it felt as though she had swallowed a red-hot coal, one that burned through her throat and rested at the back of her skull, radiating the same fire and pain and _want _that had swept her away in her kitchen, in her room, in her own bed – her own _bed_ –

Sarah gasped and sat up straight in the cot.

"Just a dream," she croaked, staring into the dim light of the on-call room. "Just a bad dream."

But it _hadn't _been a dream – it had been a memory – or was it a memory within a dream, or a dream within a memory – she couldn't think – her head was pounding and her mouth was dry –

Sarah lurched to her feet, and stumbled to the sink. She cupped her hands under the faucet, and splashed water over her face. Then she grasped the porcelain and drank directly from the cool stream, feeling it gush into her mouth and send prickles of shock through her teeth.

She turned the water off, and looked into the mirror.

_God_.

Sarah felt numb as she stared at herself. Her eyes were deeply shadowed, haunted, and her face was as white as paper. Her hair, though combed neatly, and tied back, somehow gave the impression that it would fall out of its coil at any moment – and she lifted her hands to her face, and watched them tremble like dead leaves on a tree –

Aaron had been trembling. Shaking, and jerking back and forth in his sleep, as though he were a puppet and something – someone – _you know who it is – _was pulling his strings at random.

Dr. Michaels had stared ahead, grimly, his hands clenched on the head of his cane. The staff of the psych ward, having crowded into the room, were avoiding the sight of Aaron twisting on the bed.

"With the patient worsening at this rate, the only option is to look into facilities better equipped to handle his needs – perhaps to induce a standard coma via hypothermia, or to try electroshock therapy, or to have recourse to other methods that we are not able to pursue here. Have his parents been notified?"

Dr. Brown had looked up from her clipboard. "His parents are not available."

"Not _available_?" Dr. Michaels' voice shot up in outrage; a mutter of disbelief went through the room.

"I know –" The elder woman had blinked, hard; Sarah had felt her own heart contract in a painful twist. "After their divorce, his father resigned all custody to his mother, and his mother –" Dr. Brown flipped through papers – "was last contacted in the south of France –"

"Child Protective Services?" Dr. Michaels had bitten out, through clenched teeth.

"They have alerted the authorities – standard, in such a case of obvious neglect. A judge can issue a stay on any change of treatment, if the main social worker in the case is not consulted first –"

"Well, then." The blind doctor's face had frozen in an angry mask. "Dr. Brown, you will consult this social worker. We will all meet here, tomorrow," he pressed a button on his watch and tipped his head as it chirped – _Three – thirty-two – P – M _– "Tomorrow, at three thirty, doctors."

The stare from behind his dark glasses had encompassed them all. "And if any of you has any sudden brainstorms regarding young Mr. Cohen's treatment, you will contact me immediately."

With a dispirited murmur, the staff had left the room – except for one nurse, who remained to check the monitor, and who had rested a hand on Aaron's forehead –

– and he had cried out, and twisted away from it _–_

He cried out, and twisted away from the hand, and opened his eyes to stare at Sarah from the mirror – _No – I'm not __**crazy**__ - help me, Dr. Williams - __**help **__me – help me help me HELP –_

But his eyes – his eyes were _wrong_ – they were mismatched, and sparkling with gold, and silver, and a strange unholy glee –

– _no –_

Before she could think twice, Sarah grabbed at Aaron in the mirror – and she screamed as a snake made of fire shot from the glass and twisted up her arm, coiling around her and licking at her skin, burning her – _I'm on fire – _

Through mist, or smoke, or glass, and at the edge of her own screams, she heard a voice shrieking – mad and horrible – shrieking in a language she could not understand …

And the entire mirror shattered – the glass flew around her as she was enveloped in a sheet of flame – _I'm on fire – I'm burning – I'm going to die – _

Sarah gasped and sat up straight in the cot

"Just a dream," she croaked, staring into the dim light of the on-call room. "Just a bad dream."

There had been memories in it, though – she had met about Aaron's treatment with the others just that afternoon – a dream? Or memory?

"No." Sarah made her voice firm. "That was just a bad dream. Nothing more." She breathed in, deeply, and turned her head to one side.

The mirror glinted at her, pristine and unbroken.

Shivering, she maneuvered her feet to the floor and stood up, ignoring a rush of dizziness. Sarah pushed open the door to the on-call room, straightened her coat, and set off towards the closest nursing station. Once there, she took a thermometer and placed it beneath her tongue.

Sarah fought not to sway on her feet as the minutes ticked by. A _beep_ _–_ she pulled the thermometer out of her mouth and stared at the digital screen.

103 degrees. A high fever, but not high to the point of delirium, or of hallucinations …

_Bad dreams –_

She let her mouth fall open in a silent cry, and spread both palms against a cabinet, and let her forehead rest on its cool metal. Aaron was caught in his dreams, like a minnow in a trawler's net – she had turned down her dreams – _look what I'm offering you –_

Sarah flinched at the memory of his voice. _Jareth_. Her dream – her nightmare – and he was coming here – coming – she straightened and looked at her watch. _Tonight_, she had said. It was almost eight o'clock. Sarah squinted out the window, at the setting sun. He would be here soon … he would not want to waste too much time with Aaron, when he could be – her stomach knotted.

She held a hand to her mouth and breathed in. In and out. Slowly – _stay calm_. She needed to be calm – to calm down …

A memory flitted across her mind. _Come and meet me after Compline. It's right in the chapel, you know? Eight o'clock._

_The chapel_. Fatigue dragging at her like a ball and chain, Sarah made her way to the elevator and pressed the button for the ground floor.

* * *

She walked to the chapel, carefully, past the gift shop, long since closed. The wan bunches of potpourri and vacant-eyed bears were shadows in the dim light. Sarah kept walking, until she heard a melody from around a corner. 

Clutching her lab coat closer to herself, she followed the music to the chapel, and sat down in a pew. Thankfully, there was a cushion there.

Sarah leaned back into the soft material, and sighed to herself. She looked around – there were a few gray heads, listening to the service, and there was one family huddled together, woebegone. Somebody had left a sheet of paper on the pew next to her. She picked it up, and read: _Order of Services: Evening Prayer – Rev. Susan Hoyt. Compline – Fr. Benedict Romani. Ma'ariv – Rabbi Josef Loran._

Ben had been the one singing. Sarah watched, her eyes falling half-closed, as he lit candles on the altar while reciting a prayer. Then he raised his hands, and switched from Latin to English. She glanced at the program again as the chant floated through the chapel – Ben's pleasant tenor as warm as the honey-colored wood of the pew. Her eyes slid shut.

_To Thee before the close of day  
Creator of the World we pray  
That with thy wonted favor thou  
Wouldst be our guard and keeper now.  
_

_From all ill dreams defend our eyes  
From nightly fears and fantasies  
Tread underfoot our ghostly foe  
That no pollution we may know.  
_

Ben coughed. Sarah blinked awake.

The candles at the front were guttering. One went out, and Ben moved, still chanting, to relight it.

But something else had moved – Sarah caught a flicker in the corner of her eye –

_Oh God …_

Slowly, painfully, she turned to look.

It was Jareth. Jareth, standing just beyond the chapel threshold. Jareth – looking somehow _vital_ – his skin shining like the wax of a candle burning from within. He was wearing a dark suit jacket and trousers, and a red shirt that seemed to ripple, or writhe, when Sarah moved her eyes away from it. His hair was lambent, his profile sharp and beautiful as he gazed into the chapel from where he was leaning against the doorway – And his _eyes_ – Jareth's eyes were glittering, from beneath half-closed lids – shining with interest, and glowing with – magic? or fire? – so beautiful –

_So beautiful –_

It was unbelievable that he should be so beautiful. Sarah knew that her mouth had opened, slightly, but she could not do anything but watch his image shimmer in the light, in a wave of heat – or was it her fever?

Jareth turned, and met her eyes. Then he smiled, tilting his head in Ben's direction.

"Very pretty music."

His voice was almost inaudible, but it somehow seemed to slice through the air to her ears without any effort at all.

"Do you come here often?"

Sarah licked her dry lips. "Not that often."

"Ah." Jareth's smile widened. He pushed up from the doorway and held up his hand. "I believe we have an appointment."

_Am I really going to do this?_

Sarah reached out, and took his hand, half expecting to burn – but –

She frowned to herself. His fingers should have been hot, but they were cool.

"I think I have a fever." Sarah felt her voice rasp in her throat.

Jareth raised one eyebrow. "And you seem to think I care." He twined his fingers through hers. "How sweet."

He turned them around and began to walk away. Sarah looked back, over her shoulder, at Ben, and listened as hard as she could, until the sound of the chant faded into silence.

* * *

They were both silent as they made their way to the psychiatric ward. Once there, Sarah swiped her hospital I.D., shot the bolt, and unlocked the door. She went in, quietly, hearing only her own footsteps as Jareth walked through the hall at her side. 

Soon the soft pad of her feet was joined by the sounds of moaning, crying – even some audible words –

"Our ghostly foe," Sarah murmured.

She felt his gaze prickle on the back of her neck, but resisted looking at him, only saying: "Do you haunt all of these, Jareth?"

A pause, then: "Hardly. Many are trapped in cages of their own making, others, as you know, are tripped and snared by their own misfiring neurons and misaligned chemistry." At his calm tone, Sarah turned to stare at him, despite herself. He was looking down the hall, his profile serene. "I really do not trouble myself with most of this sort – and those I do, well, I hardly have to make an effort."

"Why Aaron, then?"

Jareth flicked his eyes to her. "As you know, Aaron is special."

They stopped outside the boy's room. Jareth leaned against the wall, the black and red of his clothing vivid against the clinical beige of the ward. "He reminded me of you, Sarah, at one time. Full of life, full of vigor – his dreams as beautiful as his life was miserable. Or, at least, as miserable as he painted it – he was self-absorbed, you understand."

Sarah clenched her jaw.

He continued. "Those who fail the Labyrinth quickly come to realize that their life was nowhere near as horrible as they thought." He smiled lazily. "Nowhere near as horrible before, compared to their life afterwards."

"You need to stop doing this, Jareth – they're only children –"

"Not all who run the Labyrinth are children, Sarah – but those who are …" His face smoothed out into an expressionless mask. "All children eventually grow to be adults, but some young ones grow more quickly than others. Those children who call on me are precocious enough to wish a perceived enemy dead. You must admit that that is an adult trait."

"Still," Sarah gulped. "Still, Jareth – you need –"

He stepped towards her, and placed his hands at her sides, effectively caging her in his arms.

"I _need_ do nothing. You, my dear, need to persuade me … although …" his eyes lingered on her lips. "Last night you were so very obliging, Sarah, that I find myself eager to have done with this child and have more of _you_ – such persuasion being very much to my taste …"

The last words were husky, and she inhaled, closing her eyes, as he pressed her into the wall with his body. Was it the fever that made the air around him shimmer? Or the feeling that swept through her of _want _as he _–_ of burning, coruscating _want _that ate away fear and battered at other walls within her – at the only resistance that kept her from pushing him to the ground and covering him with her body right now – _right _now – I want I _want _– but what about Aaron –

– _Aaron –_

"Jareth," she pushed at him and lurched away, feeling drunk. "There are security cameras here."

"Who would notice me, Sarah?" He smiled in contempt, and raised his eyebrows. Sarah heard an electric whine, and then a few beeps and clicks of unhappy machinery. Then he took her by the elbow, and stood with her at the door.

"But no need to worry _–_ since now they won't see whatever you plan to do with your Aaron."

"Whatever _I_ plan to do?" Sarah snapped. "It's _your_ turn, Jareth – you're the one who has to work with him, here. You _promised_ me!"

"And I hold to my promises, Sarah." His voice was quiet. "However, as you may have noticed, our little Aaron does not particularly care for me. You would do well to soothe him - his caterwauling does tend to attract attention, doesn't it?"

Sarah felt the angry words shrivel in her throat, as she saw Jareth gaze at her from beneath his half-lowered eyelids. Smug? No … Predatory? Yes, but there was something else … Some hint of: _I know something you don't know … _

She had a sudden flash of her dream that afternoon – something screamed in a language she could not understand – her finding out the meaning too late –

"No tricks." She glared.

Jareth inclined his head. "No tricks."

Sarah bit her lip, looking at him. Then she eased open the door, and led him inside.

* * *

Sarah shook Aaron, whispering his name. "Aaron …" _He hasn't woken up in days, idiot – what do you expect? Stuck inside this room; stuck inside his own head ..._ Blinking back tears, she shook him harder. "Aaron!"

"Let me." Jareth touched the boy's shoulder. "Aaron. Light bringer – awake."

The boy shuddered. His dull eyes flew open. He took in one rattling breath – then another – and then he screamed.

"Aaron!" Sarah hugged him. "It's all right! It's O.K.! I'm here – you don't need to be scared."

"B-but – but –" The boy was hyperventilating. He pointed at Jareth, and his eyes rolled backwards; he gnawed at his lip, and whimpered –

"No, Aaron – listen to me." Sarah held his shoulders, and clambered onto the bed to block his view of Jareth. "It will be all right – he won't hurt you any more!"

"Wh-what?" The boy gaped at her, gasping for breath. She caught a glimpse of his fillings.

Sarah eased her grip, and spoke slowly. "He won't hurt you anymore. I promise …" She thought briefly of her professional vocabulary, then decided to throw it to the winds. "I've come to rescue you."

Behind her, Jareth snorted.

Sarah elbowed him, hard. He laughed under his breath, and placed his hand on her back.

The touch ignited a wave of heat in her stomach, pooling there and rocketing up to join the scalding fever in her head; she clenched her teeth, ignoring both, and looked into Aaron's eyes.

Those eyes were brown and dull – but dull with a spark returning to them. A spark that focused on her. "You can –"

_Yes. I can save you. I __**will **__save you. _

"Yes, honey?" She kept her voice low.

Aaron's eyes widened.

"You can really see him?"

Sarah felt a sudden qualm. Jareth had spread his hand wide, and his fingers had tensed.

"Yes," she said, slowly. "I can see him."

"Then – then …" Aaron stuttered.

His eyes filled with tears.

"Then I'm _not_ crazy?"

Sarah felt her throat practically close. "No," she croaked. "No, sweetheart – you're not crazy. You were never crazy. The Labyrinth was real."

"The maze?" Aaron was crying. "What about my sister?"

"Your sister –"

"Your sister is with me." Jareth's voice cut across hers, low and soothing. "You don't need to worry about her any more."

Aaron sobbed. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry – bring her back!"

Glancing at Jareth, Sarah opened her mouth –

_Don't you weep pretty baby  
Don't you weep pretty baby_

A cracked voice reached her ears. Sarah turned around, shaking off Jareth's hand, and scanned the room for the singer – there –

"Go shut her _up_ –" Jareth hissed, his voice vibrating strangely as he glared at the woman. "I'll take care of the boy."

She jumped to her feet and ran to the doorway, where a woman stood. Sarah squinted, then recognized her. It was Rachel Duvall, swaying from side to side, and crooning, her voice thick with sedative.

_She's long gone with the red shoes on  
Gonna meet another lovin baby._

"Shhh …" Sarah took her arm, gently. "What are you doing out of bed?"

The woman blinked, her eyes vacant. "I heard a baby crying."

"Let me take you back to bed," Sarah whispered. "I know you're only here for a little while – where are you sleeping?"

Swaying on her feet, Rachel slumped against the doorframe. "Poor baby …"

"It's all right – you're tired –"

The woman opened her mouth, and half-whispered, half-sang –

_You're a sweet little baby  
You're a sweet little baby …_

"Sshhhh!" Sarah urged, glancing back at Jareth.

"The baby …" Her voice had grown thready. "Forget about the baby …"

"Wait –" Sarah blinked. "What did you say?"

The woman did not reply. She looked into the room, her eyes wide, and glassy, and her whisper of song almost too soft to hear:

_Go to sleep you little baby  
Go to sleep you little baby  
You and me and the devil makes three  
Don't need no other lovin' baby …_

Sarah shuddered. She spoke through stiff lips: "Let's get you back to bed."

Rachel Duvall allowed herself to be guided down the hall, still mumbling under her breath. Sarah found her room, mechanically held out the sheets and blanket for her, and made sure she was secure, and then left her, turning out the light.

She made her way back up the hall. Stopped in the doorway, to look at Aaron. Now he was laying back, his head on the pillow.

Lights were sparkling around his bed – sparkling, and shimmering in the darkness.

Sarah walked, carefully, across the room. First one foot, then the other.

She sat on the bed opposite Aaron's, and listened to that voice – Jareth's voice – as if for the first time. Its strange harmonics, its echo …

… She remembered her dream. Something important, in a language she could not understand. And then she was lost.

"… And when the stars found each other in the Underground, they all rejoiced –"

"Did they have a party?" the boy whispered, sleepy.

"A big party – an _immense_ party," Jareth whispered back. "A party that lasted for seven days and seven nights. For they thought they were lost, and then they found each other at the King's castle. And then …"

"Then what?"

Jareth smiled. "They all lived happily ever after."

Aaron blinked. "They weren't lost anymore." He yawned.

"No …" Jareth unfolded himself from the bed. "They found what was lost, in the Underground … and nothing ever hurt again." He tucked the blankets around the boy's chin. "The end."

Sarah held her elbows tightly, with her hands. One small part of her wanted the voice to continue, forever … its lilt like singing …

_Singing_ – something about a song. A song she had heard – _wait _– she had _just _heard it –

Sarah froze.

She felt every hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

It all made sense. Everything she had seen and heard – it all fit together –

"Thank you …" Aaron whispered.

Jareth's fingers brushed hers; she recoiled. "Don't thank me," he murmured. Taking one of her elbows in one hand – _no, no __**don't **__touch me –_ he drew her to her feet. "You had better thank Dr. Williams, here."

The boy spoke, half asleep. "But I'm not crazy …"

Jareth shook his head, half smiling. He bent to whisper in Aaron's ear. "Be sure to find her and say, 'Thank you.' Some time soon, Aaron. Light bringer. Sleep now."

The boy's face relaxed, as he fell completely asleep.

Sarah heard the near-silent sip of her own breathing. In and out. In and out. She stared at the sleeping child, and swallowed sudden nausea as her vision shimmered at the edges.

"Sarah …"

Jareth's low voice slid across her ears. He tightened his grip on her elbow, and brushed the fingers of his other hand over her neck.

The nausea intensified.

"Jareth –" she said, thickly.

He stepped closer, and folded her into his arms. She shut her eyes, and focused on _not _feeling the way his shirt seemed to undulate beneath her cheek –

"Well, Sarah – shall we continue here, or in the comfort of your own home? Or –" and she heard his voice clot with malice – "you could always let me have you as _my_ guest. I feel it only polite to host at leastonce –"

She interrupted. "I know –" Then Sarah stopped to breathe, feeling suffocated.

"Yes, my dear?" His voice was dulcet, in her ear. "What do you know?"

_Just breathe_. "I know who you are."

Jareth was silent.

"I know _what _you are."

"Do you?" he mused. His grip on her tightened. "Then perhaps there are some things we must discuss."

Sarah felt the air around them ripple, and crackle with something like electricity –

"Wait, Jareth –" she gasped. "Take me home. Nowhere else. Take me –"

* * *

. 

Another cliffie. Sheez – I thrive on 'em.

I stole one of Jareth's lines ("Cat got your tongue, but I've got the rest") from _The Talismans of Shannara_, by Terry Brooks.

The text Ben chants is actually from the Compline service of the Catholic / High Episcopal Church.

You read? Please review!


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

* * *

**  
**

"– home –"

Sarah wavered on her feet, even within Jareth's grasp. They were standing in the middle of her living room.

Her nausea shot into her throat; she choked, and broke free of him, and ran to the kitchen – _the bathroom's not close enough _– She bent over the sink, and threw up.

When her coughing subsided, she reached up, without looking, and turned on the faucet. Sarah closed her eyes and let the cool water run over her feverish face. Trembling, she opened her lips to take a sip –

"Better not."

She flinched at Jareth's low voice.

"Why not?" Her words came out as a croak.

Even without looking, Sarah knew that he had shrugged. "Plain water can be hard on an upset stomach."

He didn't sound disgusted at all … if anything, he sounded – amused? Resigned?

Her knees weakened, and – _oh shit, don't let him see – __**damn**__ it_ – she felt herself begin to cry.

There was silence from behind her. Then she heard the refrigerator door open, and the _crack_ of a can of soda being opened.

Sarah lifted up her head, with an effort – it felt heavy, and stuffed. She didn't bother to hide her tears. _Why bother?_

Jareth reached up, and took a glass from a cupboard. After considering, he took down another. He poured the soda – 7Up – into one of the glasses, and turned towards Sarah.

He paused, taking in her tear-streaked face. Then Jareth raised both eyebrows, and held out the full glass.

Sarah sniffed, hard – _**damn**__ it, I am thirty-two fucking years old, and sniveling like a baby – _took the soda, and gulped it down. She set the glass on the counter.

When she looked back at Jareth, he had retrieved the grocery bag of yesterday, and had plucked a bottle of wine out of it. Sarah stared. The wine looked like nothing she had ever seen – it had a dark color, but strange fiery streaks writhing and tangling in its depths –

She felt herself hiccup, and saw Jareth's mouth quirk at the edges. He had the bottle of wine, and a corkscrew, and the empty glass in one hand.

He held out the other hand to her.

Sarah felt herself quail, inwardly.

"Come, my dear –" His voice was gentle. "Come sit down, before you fall down."

Fiercely, she pulled herself together, and strode out of the kitchen, bypassing his outstretched hand, and snatching the can of soda from the counter as she went.

Sarah heard him laugh, softly, and she knew that he was following her to the living room. She made it to the couch before her knees gave way; she turned on the lamp, flopped down and stretched out before he could claim a corner. Jareth sank into a chair on the other side of the couch, gracefully, and rested one ankle on the opposite knee. Sarah found herself looking at his shoes. They were black, polished – immaculate – she blinked hard as their edge caught the light, and took another swig of soda to calm her stomach.

"So." Jareth twisted the cork out of the bottle, and she heard him pour a glass of wine. "Tell me, Sarah. Who am I, to disgust you so?"

Sarah put her soda on the coffee table, grabbed an ornamental pillow, and busied herself with finding a spot for it beneath her head.

Jareth waited her out.

She darted a glance at him. His eyes were heavy-lidded, amused, with that hint of – _I know something you don't know _– except, of course, she _did _know –

Sarah wet her lips. "I –"

He took a measured sip of wine, and tilted his head. "Yes?"

"I don't want to say."

Jareth raised an eyebrow.

"If I don't say it –" she continued, stumbling in her sickness, and – _fear? yes, that's it _– "I have this silly feeling that if I don't say it, it won't be true." She swallowed. "But it _is _true, isn't it?"

He smiled. "What is truth?"

"Oh _don't_ even start playing around with me, you son of a _bitch_ –" Her words came faster, in her panic. "You're a liar – a liar and a cheat. You're sick. You're _evil _– You're – you're –"

"Who am I?" He spoke in a tone of cold command. "Tell me."

Her voice was only a whisper.

"You're the Devil."

Jareth's mouth fell open. He stared at her –

"You're serious?"

Sarah felt a sudden qualm. "Ye-es ..."

"One moment, please." Grinning, Jareth placed his wine carefully on the table, and clasped his hands together. "There. Now tell me again, dear. Sarah Williams – _Doctor _Sarah Williams – bearer of the standard of scientific belief in this shining age of rationality – tell me –" he spread his hands and opened his eyes wide at her – "who do you say I am?"

She felt her cheeks burn. "You're the Devil. You're Satan."

Jareth stared at her, his lips twitching – and then he threw back his head and laughed. He laughed long, and loudly – and then he slapped his hands on the chair's armrests, and took a deep breath.

"The Devil! The Prince of Darkness!" he crowed to the ceiling. "_Fear_ me, _love_ me, do as I say or I'll drag you down to _Hell_ –" he broke off in another hoot of laughter.

"Stop it!" Sarah spat. "It all fits together! It all makes sense!"

"And it's the funniest thing I've heard since Aaron thought I was a character from – what is it – Star Wars? I mean really, Sarah – what drivel must you humans drag in from popular culture these days in order to justify me? ... I –" and he stared at her, enunciating carefully – "am the Goblin King. As the King, I take children kindly offered to me. As a being with power over dreams, I am free to create whatever night and day visions I see fit, if I can latch on to a human susceptible enough. The Goblin King has no Fairy court, and no dream weaver in history has had an assembly of delirious siblings – and neither has _ever_ had the powers of Hell to command ..." He grinned. Light from the lamp sparked off his teeth. "You poor child. Isn't it enough that I am an archetype? Must you make me evil incarnate as well?"

"I'm _not _a child!" Sarah's head spun. _So dizzy_. "It all fits! Ben can see you – my friend, Ben – he's a _priest_, and he can see you! You frighten him ..."

"He's the young man with dark, curly hair, yes?" Sarah nodded; he continued, smoothly. "But he was looking at _you_, precious. He stares at you like a dog at a chunk of raw meat because of ... the _particular _demands of the priesthood." His grin turned lascivious. "Believe me, my dear – if I know one priest, I know them all. Young Benedict is just coming to terms with the prospect of a long life stripped of the pleasures of the flesh."

"He's not like that –"

"You can believe that, if it makes you more comfortable."

"But – Jareth, I saw you. You wouldn't go into the cathedral, or the chapel –" Bile was pooling at the back of her throat; Sarah swallowed hard. _Don't get sick again _–_ don't get sick _–

A shrug. "I don't care for the décor."

"Your – your clothes – you look like –"

Jareth looked down at his shirt, then laughed again. "Mephistopheles? Really, Sarah – is it my fault if red highlights my complexion?" At her protest, he bent towards her and tapped a finger on her temple. "If the best justification you can find for my being the Prince of Darkness is my admittedly outstanding fashion sense, you are truly straining at a gnat."

Shivering at his touch, Sarah closed her eyes. "I – I had a dream –"

"You did?" Jareth's voice softened. "What did you dream?"

"I saw your eyes – there was a snake – and I heard something_ screaming_ and I couldn't understand – and then I was on fire –"

"My dear Sarah ..." He cradled the side of her face in his palm. "That's probably because you are ill."

His hand was cool. _I'm burning up – I feel sick – _And as he moved his fingers to her forehead, and traced a pattern there, her stomach lurched. She gulped. "God – it's _you _making me this sick?"

Jareth unclenched his other hand from where his fingers had dug into the soft material of the chair. He drew back his hand from her face, and looked at her, smiling. "It is possible. I have seen reactions to my presence that were far more spectacular, of course –" he retrieved the glass of wine, and held it up, gazing at its ruby color in the lamplight. "But, then again, it could be something else …"

_Something else – wait –_

"No," Sarah snarled, from where her head lay propped on the pillow. "I swear, Jareth, that if I'm pregnant, I'll jump off a bridge –"

Jareth chuckled. "And to think I believed you had obtained your delusions from Dante. He writes a nasty fate for suicides, lovely." He took a sip of wine, and smirked at her. "And it has been fewer than forty-eight hours. I _am_ flattered, but it would be rather too early in the term for you to be sick – no matter what supernatural _potency _–" he lingered on the word – "you ascribe to me."

Sarah felt her pulse thump in her temples. "Start making _sense_, Jareth!"

He gazed at her furious face, his expression indulgent. "Fine. You're not pregnant. I took – precautions."

"Oh – you learned your lesson somewhere else?" she snapped.

An eyebrow went up. "Quite. It was several hundred years ago – no, more than that –" he frowned, thoughtful, "when a young lady caught my fancy ... but then she bore me a son, and all hell broke loose." He took another sip of wine. "So to speak. She buried herself alive in a nunnery, and he – well, he resisted my considerate offers, and blandishments, and cut quite a heroic figure, in his day … interfering in some of my schemes, and prophesying, and doing all matter of inconsiderate things. You have probably read about him."

Sarah blinked. Her pulse had suddenly slowed, and the nausea was wearing off ... The pillow cradled her head in a comfortable way; the rise and fall of Jareth's voice lulled her. "What happened to him?"

His voice was hypnotic. "Where there are prophecies, they will cease, and where there are men, they will make ... mistakes."

"What do you mean?"

Jareth smiled. "I caught him, in the end."

Sarah blinked again, feeling sleepy. "And you never had any other children?"

"I'm not sure, come to think of it. It's possible. He is the last one that I remember. My dear –" Jareth put down his glass on the coffee table – "it _would _make your life a great deal more interesting, to bear my child. I could arrange it – the time is not right yet, of course, but it might be closer at hand than even I know –"

"What?" Sarah choked, jerking out of her daze. "Are you kidding? If I'm not sick from being pregnant, it had damn well better _stay _that way!"

"Suit yourself." Pouring himself some more wine, Jareth looked at her from the corner of his eye. "Although such melodrama does not suit you, Sarah. This squalling about sickness – it could be my presence, yes, but it could just as well be influenza."

"Oh." Her voice sounded small, in her own ears. "Wait … you're trying to get me off track – you're tricky –" She grabbed for the can of soda; Jareth, smiling, gave it to her and leaned back into his chair. "The Labyrinth. Did you put your son through it?"

Jareth sighed. "No. He rests, now, deep in the diamond of the day."

"What _is _the Labyrinth? Is it just a dream?" Sarah's mind skipped back to Lyn, and their college class; she bit her lip. "I've wondered for a long time."

Light flashed off the wine. "The Labyrinth … well, my dear, the Labyrinth is difficult to explain."

"Try me."

Jareth cradled his glass in one hand, and propped his chin on the long fingers of the other. "Every journey through the Labyrinth, to retrieve something that has been taken, echoes the first time that my kingdom was breached." His voice turned ugly. "A great many things of importance were retrieved at that time, though I have not felt such a harrowing threat since. Mostly because I restructured the outer limits of my kingdom – I made each of them a reflection, or an echo, of the reality lying deeper within. So, a runner's victory over the Labyrinth has only a symbolic importance to me – although it is never pleasant to be reminded of the original. The runner's defeat, on the other hand, is much more profitable." He smiled. "And enjoyable."

Sarah bit her lip. "Have many people – won?"

"No." He looked at her. "It takes a certain amount of ... potential. Courage. Goodness." His lips twisted into a sneer. "Moral fiber. I had never thought you a possible victor, love – I had thought that you would fall very quickly, with your anger compounded by your selfishness. You can imagine my surprise when you did not."

Sarah considered cursing him – but she felt too tired – _weak –_ like she would melt into the couch with the heat – she dragged her attention back to his voice _–_

"Only a few have defeated me, even on the plane of dreams. And those who do … well, you understand, Sarah, that I do not take even a mock defeat lightly."

"Is that why you came after me – now?" She shivered.

Jareth's eyes measured her, from across the glass. "How clever of you to _finally _figure it out, my dear."

His voice snagged on her skin, like a cat clawing silk.

"Every victor over the Labyrinth is an intrinsic threat to me. It is therefore in my very best interests to find a weakness in his – or her – armor, and to exploit it …" He smiled, showing sharp teeth. "And, of course, to ensure that he – or she – is completely debauched, whether through my own agency, or that of others."

Sarah felt faint. "Debauched?"

Jareth said nothing, but his eyes moved to her legs.

She clamped down on the sudden quivering in her stomach. _Don't get sick again_. "Bullshit. This _cannot _be about sex. That attitude is right out of the Dark Ages."

He smiled. "So too is the Devil. And you had no problem with that, did you?"

"Fine," Sarah snarled. "You're not Satan – you're some creation of the nastiest part of my mind – some twisted, perverted dream archetype that takes pleasure in torture – and just _won't _leave me _alone –_"

"You didn't want to be left alone, Sarah ..." Jareth crooned. "We had a bargain, a bargain that _you _made. What does it say about your psychology – about your inmost desires and dreams – that you should give yourself to me in a wild tangling of lust night after night –"

"Shut up." Her heart was pounding. "This _can't _be just about sex. You don't work that way. You're _tricky_."

"I'd like it to be." When she did not respond, Jareth smiled, and slid his gaze up her body to her eyes. "No – not sex. At least, not completely."

Sarah felt like screaming in frustration. "Then _what _is going on? You want to drag down the victor. That's it? I'm such a big threat that you have to go out of your way to torment me?"

Jareth was silent. He swirled the remaining wine in his glass, and his gaze lingered on her.

"If you have not figured it out by now, Sarah dear – I am not going to ruin the surprise for you."

"Surprise?" Her skin prickled. "Oh, _hell _no, Jareth. You have no power over me."

His face twisted. "I _know_!"

She stiffened at the grating tone of his voice, and stared at him.

Raising the glass in a mock toast, he spoke more calmly. "Power is such a complicated thing, Sarah. I have no power over _you_, but I have power over certain dreams, and certain powers over humans ... and certainly power over all those unfortunates who fail at the Labyrinth – so I would advise you to –"

"Those who fail at the Labyrinth," Sarah breathed. "You _bastard_. You're distracting me on **purpose**!"

Jareth sneered at her. "You never know when to listen, do you, Sarah?"

"Oh, I'm listening." She raised herself to a sitting position on the couch, and glared. "Power over dreams? Like the ones you were _nice _enough to send Aaron? And what about the rest of them? That's part of our bargain – you remember?"

"I remember." His eyes were slits. "Dreams, Sarah – nightmares and hallucinations – I must admit, I have my hands full these days, since humanity works _so _hard at making my job easier."

His voice crackled with menace. Sarah felt herself shrink backwards into the couch's cushions, suddenly wanting to hide _–_

"Good intentions – those are the best material." Jareth closed his eyes, and she listened, stupefied, as he half sang, half chanted:

_I flew to Babylon of old  
Through gardens green and streets of gold  
While one, or two, or nine, a score  
Sang weeping on the river's shore …_

_I flew to Babylon today –  
The stars are veiled, the sky is gray.  
The streets are rolling with a flood  
Of women's screams and children's blood –_

Sarah covered her ears. "Stop it!"

Silence.

Shaking, she twisted her fingers together. "What the hell was that?"

Jareth shrugged. "Just a ditty."

She looked at him in disbelief. He could not be so calm, so – _smug_. "You're trying to distract me."

"Trying? I'm succeeding."

Sarah squared her shoulders. "I want you to stop, Jareth."

He smirked. "Stop what, again?"

"The children who run through your Labyrinth, and who lose – I want you to stop tormenting them."

His smirk faded. "And if I do, Sarah," his voice was quiet. "If you hold that tiny victory to yourself, what will you do with the rest of the children in this world of sorrow? Those who starve, those who die of disease, those who are enslaved, or those who fall victim to their own minds – not to my tricks ... There are countless millions more suffering, and dying, than you can ever hope to help."

Sarah bit her lip, and fought back tears. "I know." She lifted her head. "But just because I can't help them all, Jareth, does not mean I shouldn't try."

He fell silent.

Sarah watched him, and saw how the golden light of the lamp caught the fall of his hair, and pricked out diamond-bright sparks in his eyes – his eyes, veiled as they were, staring into the depths of the wine as though he were reading some mystery there …

"Such good intentions, Sarah."

She blinked. He sounded – _sad? No – __**tired**__, more like_. _Weary._

Jareth looked at the wine glass. "My crusader." He flicked his eyes to her. "What would you do, if there were no more children to save?"

Sarah's eyes opened wide. "What – you can't be serious, Jareth – you can't take _all _the children of the world –"

He curled his upper lip back from his teeth. "You misunderstand me. What I am _trying_ to say, Sarah," and he put the glass down, forcefully, on the table, "is that you _need _suffering. You feed on it as much as I do. We are two of a kind, precious thing – without the miserable ones, you would pine away, purposeless –"

"You're wrong."

Sarah spoke calmly – but she had a strange, warm feeling within her that told her she was speaking absolute truth.

An image flashed across her mind – herself, standing at the door to the Labyrinth, staring ahead from a crossroads ...

She looked him squarely in the eye. "You're wrong, Jareth. We are different."

His voice was almost inaudible. "How so?"

"If all suffering came to an end next year – or next week – or tomorrow – I would not mind in the least. Whatever power I have, I use to help people – if I were powerless because nobody needed help, that would be fine with me."

She smiled, aware of the cliché as soon as it came to her mind. "I use my power for good."

The silence between them crackled with something powerful ...

Jareth held her gaze, and his own turned bleak, and cold. "Touché."

Breathing out, Sarah let her eyes fall shut. She felt a tear spill down her face - sorrow? _no _–_**relief **_–_ joy _–_ Now I know the answer ..._

_I use my power for good_.

_I use my power for good_.

She had stepped forward from the crossroads. The path was clear. And she saw the gates of the Labyrinth shimmer, and then the huge mirror dissolved into a fine silver dust that fell upon her like a blessing – the flames flattened out into a golden and amber highway, and she stepped over the snake with one foot and trod it into the ground with the other –

The silver dust changed into rain. It fell upon her, cooling her and washing away all traces of pain and fear and fire –

Sarah blinked awake.

* * *

_  
A dream_. 

Had it all been a dream? Was she awake, or sleeping?

Awake, or sleeping – her smile turned into a full-blown grin. It didn't matter. Either way – she touched her forehead to confirm – her fever was gone. She no longer felt sick. She felt as if she had slept for hours in the past – she glanced at her watch – the past three minutes.

_I use my power for good. That's the difference. That's what makes me what I am. That's why he has no power over me._

_He – _Jareth ... Was he even in the room anymore?

Sarah turned her head to the side.

_There -_

Glee shot through her. _I've won! _"I suppose it was too much to hope you'd just disappear?" she laughed. _He has no power over me!_

Jareth said nothing. His face could have been sculpted from ice. Only the gleam of his eyes showed that he was even alive.

Sarah lifted her chin. Even five minutes ago, his expression would have made her cringe. But now ...

_I don't have to fear him, anymore. He can't trick me, or take me with him. We're different … _

She no longer felt sick, or tired. And she no longer felt afraid.

_He can't trick me. I know my path now. He has no power over me!_

Sarah laughed again, in sheer, giddy relief. "You lose, Jareth!"

Jareth eyed her, narrowly, and then uncoiled an arm to pluck the wine glass from the table. He raised it to her. "Then allow me to drink to your victory, **clever** girl." His voice was vicious.

Sarah watched him drain the last of the wine - the red and violet writhed together in such a strange way ... _I wonder ..._

Her confidence bubbled straight to her head, like champagne. Sarah swung her legs over the edge of the couch, and looked at the coffee table. "What _is _that, anyway?" She pointed at the wine.

"Believe me – you don't want to know."

"But it's alcoholic?"

Jareth nodded. "And then some." He gave her a narrow look. "I would be careful with it, if I were you."

"How sweet of you to be concerned. If I wanted advice, I have my dad on speed-dial. No –" she returned his glare with a smirk – "I'm feeling so much better, Jareth – come to think of it, it's probably because I've realized, yet _again_, that you – have – no – power –"

"Enough."

She grinned, ignoring his curt tone. "You have no power over me –" she glanced at him again, and saw him grimace – "so if I have some of this, you can't whisk me away to the Labyrinth, or keep me with you a month for every swig, or anything like that, right?"

He gave her a jaded look. "Correct."

"Great." Sarah stretched out, and grabbed Jareth's glass – _mine's still in the kitchen, damn it _– filled it, and held up the wine to the light. "I have to say that it looks pretty."

Jareth shifted. "Not quite the word I would use."

She toasted him, and took a drink.

The wine flared in her mouth, and burned its way down her throat before igniting in her stomach; Sarah spluttered, and coughed. "Holy _shit_!"

"Also not quite the word I would use."

Sarah looked at him. He was half smiling at her, his eyes – soft, again? She flashed back to him standing at the base of the cathedral, and gazing at her.

She smiled back at him. "You have no power over me." Was it the wine, or the euphoria of a puzzle solved, the truth revealed – hidden knowledge now her own – that made her so giddy? "You have power over dreams, and nightmares, and hallucinations – and lots of people – but, get this – you have _no _power over little old me! That really gets under your immortal skin, doesn't it?"

Making a face, Jareth uncrossed his legs and folded his hands. "Must you rub it in?"

Sarah leaned back, took another mouthful of wine, and only coughed once after it went down. Jareth's eyebrows shot to his hairline. "Impressive."

She beat out a rhythm on the glass. "Damn straight."

"Hmph." Jareth leaned his head back, and closed his eyes.

_Go ahead and sulk …_Quieting down her inner laughter, Sarah stared into space. _The journey through the Underground – through the Labyrinth – about growing, and changing – _

_Growing. I've grown. I know my purpose now. He can't take it from me, or lure me away, or persuade me –_

Her skin prickled. _**Persuade **__me …_

_Shit_. The third night. She felt her knuckles whiten on the glass. He was a trickster, and a cheat, and a deceiver, with a capital D ...

Sarah narrowed her eyes, and thought as hard as she could. _Tricky bastard_. He was probably expecting her to get drunk and fall asleep, just so – she felt cold – just so the bargain would be broken, and – could he renege? Her thoughts flew faster and faster. Could he go back to torturing Aaron? Could he do something else – could he – she inhaled in shock. Their bargain. If she broke her end of it, she wouldn't put it past him to tie her word around her neck and drag her down with him –

"_Damn _it," she hissed.

"Hmm?"

Sarah twitched at his gravelly tone, and turned to look at him. Jareth was practically draped over her chair – so relaxed that he looked boneless. His eyes were still closed.

"No power over me …" she reminded herself, in an undertone. Then she took the wine bottle, and topped off the glass, her hands shaking. _You can do this …_

Was he really going to try and trick her?

_Let's see ..._

She took a gulp of wine, hardly noticing the burn, and put the glass on a table with a _click_. Then - "I win ..." she sang, in a low voice. "I win, I win ..." Then she got up, and walked over in front of Jareth, and poked him in the chest.

His shirt _rippled _strangely – _don't be scared_ – and he cracked open one eye to give her a jaundiced stare.

"You lose, Jareth. Couch is all yours tonight."

Was that a slight smile at the corner of his mouth? Had she imagined it? Because it was gone, as soon as it had appeared ...

Sarah's thoughts scurried off into a safe corner, as Jareth rose, and walked a few steps, and stretched out on the couch, all in one fluid movement. She saw the way his shirt caught at his waist, and writhed beneath the folds of his suit jacket; she looked at the long line of his body, relaxed – but graceful, even at rest –

"Then go away, little girl. You tire me."

She blinked.

He really was trying to trick her. A bubble of fury began to rise into her throat, from her stomach. _Just how stupid does he think I am?!_

Pretty damn stupid, apparently. So confident that she would forget whatever she had promised, in the haze of victory, and – and _whatever_ that wine was ...

_I don't trust you any further than I can throw you, and I want to see you keep your promise. And then you'll get your precious third night - you understand?_

He had kept his promise. And he was counting on her to forget hers. So he could take her – drag her down to the Labyrinth – imprison her – torture her –

Sarah paused, and gathered her thoughts. _**Persuade **__me_, he had said.

She felt her lips curl back from her teeth. She could be persuasive. _Very _persuasive. After all, this entire time, he had been busy scaring the living daylights out of her, and _hurting _her, and making her sick – she hadn't really had the opportunity …

His eyes were still closed, pale lashes on alabaster skin – he looked for all the world like a beautiful, fallen angel asleep on her couch –

But that was out of the Dark Ages, true enough. Not a fallen angel – more like herself. _Myself. My shadow self. My longings, my repressed desires, my anger, my cruelty and selfishness, with a face out of my dreams ..._

Jareth stirred, and sighed, and his beauty in repose almost made her choke _–_

**_Persuade _**_me, _he had said ...

Before Sarah could convince herself otherwise, she turned her back on his form and padded quietly to her bedroom. The orb was glowing on her vanity; she ignored it, and eased open a dresser drawer. Taking in a deep breath, she quickly stripped off her everyday clothes, and pulled on a silk slip.

_You can do this. _

Sarah raised her chin, and walked over to her vanity. She ran a brush over her hair. Then she took a bottle of perfume – _sandalwood? why not? – _and dabbed some on her pulse points, and beneath her ears.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror. _Am I really going to do this?_

Her reflection made no reply. It shimmered, strangely, in the crystal light.

Sarah turned her back on it, and left her bedroom as silently as she had come.

* * *

Her heart pounding in her throat, she eased back into her living room, hovering at the threshold.

Jareth lay there, much as she had left him _–_ his eyes closed, his head tilted back, one arm relaxed at his side. He had thrown the other over his eyes.

If she didn't know better, Sarah would have thought him asleep.

_You do know better ..._

The silk on her body rustled, in the dead silence of the room. Sarah blew on her wrist to dry the perfume. He could smell it. She was sure that he could smell it.

_You can do this._

"Jareth ..."

No reaction.

"Jareth." She allowed an edge to creep into her voice. "I know you're awake."

She heard him sigh. "You know me so well."

He shifted his arm, brought his hand to his forehead and massaged his temples with a thumb and finger. Sarah swallowed, as she saw him pause, and sniff the air. Then Jareth sneered. "Yet you believe a bit of incense is enough to send me on my way – honestly –"

He let his hand fall, and propped himself up on both elbows, and opened his eyes _–_

_–_ and she saw him go still.

Sarah held his gaze with hers.

For a long moment, he did not move.

Then she watched him turn his head slightly, and narrow his eyes. He flicked his gaze over her – Sarah's scalp prickled as she saw him do it, and then she spoke, softly:

"What do you think of this?"

She trailed one hand down the front of the slip, brushing it over the contours of her body, and smiled as she saw his fingertips brush against the fabric of the couch in unconscious imitation _–_

_–_ but Jareth caught himself doing so, and his jaw tightened as he leaned back against an armrest, and folded his hands on his stomach.

"I can't imagine what you mean by it."

Sarah let her smile fade. "Well, it's certainly been a long day. A long week ... And, Jareth, I don't feel like spelling out anything for you _– _so I'll just go to bed _–_" She turned in the doorway.

"Wait."

His voice was clipped.

Sarah waited, smirking inwardly. "Yes?"

"I've had a sudden epiphany."

"Oh, really?"

A long pause. "Yes. Really."

Sarah looked back over her shoulder.

If anything, the darkness in the room seemed to have grown _– thicker_, somehow. More intense. The light from the lamp flowed around the figure reclining on her couch, shimmering like a heat wave.

Sarah turned her face away from him. The few seconds it took for her to stroll from the hallway to the couch felt indeterminably long.

Jareth remained still, watching her.

Then, slowly, he moved his right hand off the cushion, and let it slide to the floor, and his arm after it.

"I suppose that's an invitation?" Without waiting to hear an answer, Sarah knelt down next to the couch, set an elbow practically next to his ribcage, and propped her chin on one hand. With the other, she reached out and took the glass of wine. She brought it to her lips, and took a slow drink, watching him, and letting the heat from the wine roil in her stomach.

His jaw was tight. "Suppose away."

"Well then, Jareth ..." Sarah made her voice husky. "Let me tell you what I suppose. I suppose you thought you could trick me - make me so giddy at figuring out one of your little games that I'd forget the other – and go back on my word - and then you'd come up with some sort of nasty fate for me, wouldn't you?" She tipped her head to one side. "Am I getting warmer?"

Jareth's face was impassive. "Perhaps."

"Hmm." She looked long at him, and then smiled, slowly. "I think it _is _getting warmer in here – don't you?" She moved her chin from her left hand, and dipped a finger in the wine, and before she could reconsider, reached out and traced Jareth's lips with it.

She saw his eyes flare.

"Oh, I suppose so many things, Jareth." Sarah tapped her finger against her own mouth, and watched him follow her movements. "The victors of your Labyrinth – I suppose you were telling the truth when you said that you search for weaknesses in their armor; you try to corrupt them –" she sucked the remaining wine off her finger and heard him inhale – "you try to drag them down ... well – it may sound medieval, but I _suppose_ I know the answer to _that _little riddle. Because it's not medieval. It's _Machiavelli_. It's not about sex –" she languidly stretched her left arm over the armrest, behind his head, and tugged at his hair with her fingers. "It's about power – isn't it?"

Greatly daring, Sarah brought her mouth to his right ear and whispered: "Isn't it?"

She flicked her tongue over his earlobe and heard him hiss.

"What was that?" Sarah smirked, letting her words puff against him.

Jareth took in a careful breath, and then turned his head in one quick motion, so that her lips parted instinctively as his words coasted over her mouth.

"Are you trying to seduce me, Sarah?"

She brushed her lips over his. "Do you want me to seduce you, Jareth?"

A moment of electric silence, and then he murmured: "If I did, you would have to try harder."

Sarah raised her eyebrows, and put the glass of wine on back on the coffee table without looking away from him. "Harder?" She drummed her fingers on the table, and then placed her free hand in his lap.

Jareth's start was almost _funny _– the abrupt movement yanked his hair away from her left hand _–_ she would have laughed at his snarl, had she not been giddy with the adrenaline flooding her body _–_

"Harder, Jareth?"

She moved her hand, experimenting, and did laugh as he cursed, and jerked his face away from hers. "Somehow, I don't think _harder_ is the operative word, is it?"

Jareth snapped his eyes back at her; they gleamed in the light like ice.

"Little girl _–_" he growled _–_ "_little _Sarah _– _you must know that you're playing with fire."

Sarah tossed her head. "Well, if I am, I should warm up my knees." Before he could move, she stood, yanked his legs to a different angle to make room for her, and straddled him where he lay. "I can't kneel on a hard floor all night, you understand -"

"What a shame _–_" his acid reply caught in his throat as she ground her hips against him; she watched, satisfied, as he threw his head back and grabbed at the fabric of the couch with both hands.

"The real shame, Jareth, is that you have not accepted that I'm _not _little anymore _–_" She rocked in his lap, finding a rhythm. "And you know that _–_ but you can't move past thinking of me as some kid that you can frighten with a few dirty tricks."

"Little girl _–_" his voice was ragged. "Little girls who play with fire always get burned." His eyes bored into hers; she refused to look away. "_Always_."

"Oh." Sarah stilled in his lap. "I see."

_I do see _– she thought. She could see the desire in his eyes, could feel it radiating off him like heat from an oven after the door fell open – _fire – _he was so physically _warm _that it wasn't natural – she shouldn't feel sweat beading on her upper lip from doing what she was doing – her mind flashed back – _a special guest a _**_royal _**_guest who'll give you a crystal ball if you just give him a lap dance _–but she could feel exactly how much he wanted her – right _there – _Sarah shifted, pretending to consider his words, and saw his eyelids fall half shut.

"So ..." She kept her voice low. "Do you want me to stop?" She ran her hands up his shirt, and undid one button – two – three – and trailed her fingers over his chest. "Do you, Jareth?"

His eyes were slits – thin veins of some precious stone, glowing with anger. His lips had compressed into a white line.

She waited.

Jareth gritted his teeth. "No."

"There!" Sarah smiled. "That wasn't too difficult, was it?"

He didn't take his stare from her face. A long moment – two – and then he ground out: "Well?"

"Well what?"

Jareth's gaze stabbed her. Despite herself, Sarah felt an inward clench of fear.

"Keep going."

"Let me see." She licked her lips. "What will you give me, if I keep going?"

He said nothing.

Then Sarah half-shrieked with surprise as he seized her hips with his hands; she gave in to her anger, and slapped him, hard.

Jareth froze.

Sarah felt the fear within her intensify. If his eyes had burned before, she had no words for what they were doing now ...

But she kept her voice level. "I never said that you could _touch_ me, Jareth ..."

The mark of her hand on his pale cheek was turning red, almost the color of the fury in his eyes – or was it the light? – congealing like blood as he unhooked his fingers from her slip and slapped his hands back to his sides.

"Ah – he can be taught!"

Sarah felt his entire body go rigid beneath her, like a coiled spring – _shit – shouldn't have said that – _he was _enraged__–_

She stared off to one side, and the painting over the mantel – she saw the cream, red and black of their clothing reflected in the glass covering it, and the white and silver-gold of his skin and hair – and she put her hands back on his chest, and moved them in small circles. "You never answered me, Jareth. What will you give me, if I keep going?"

Sarah trailed her eyes back to his, and twisted her hips. She gasped as he thrust upward, instinctively, and felt a rasping growl vibrate through her fingers _–_ no, it was his voice _–_

"What do you want?"

Biting her lip, she fought to keep her voice level. "I think you know what I want ..."

"_What _do you want, Sarah?"

It was getting more difficult to breathe. "Promise me _–_"

"Promise you _what?_"

"Promise me that you will cease to torment those who fail your Labyrinth. Give me your word. Swear it."

"_Those _who fail – not just children any more, is it?" Jareth's voice was venomous. "How like you, to change your mind at the last – _ah__–_"

Sarah had let her body drape down over him; she kissed where his pulse hammered in his throat, and watched him toss his head back on the armrest to allow her better access _–_ his skin gleamed in the lamplight like polished ivory _–_

"I'd hate to stop now, Jareth ..."

"No _–_" he choked _–_ "Don't stop _–_"

"Then swear it _–_" She hardly recognized her own voice. "Swear by all of your power that you will do as I ask."

She ran her tongue up his neck and heard him groan. "I swear it."

"Swear _what?_"

"I swear _–_" Jareth's voice caught, and half of her marveled _–_ she had never heard him inarticulate _–_ the other half of her moved her entire body over him, slowly, sinuously _–_ his words stumbled over each other – "What you ask – I swear by all the power I have ever had and ever will have that I will do as you command in this matter –"

_I will do as you command_.

Sarah felt a surge of blood rush to her head. Goosebumps swept over her body.

_Power_.

She sat back, and stared down at him. It was like no other high she had ever had in her life – hearing him stammer, watching him twist where he lay pinioned beneath her, gasping with desire.

"Why, _thank _you, Jareth ..." she purred. "Now be a dear and help me, would you?" Sarah reached between their bodies, tracing through layers of cloth. "I don't feel like doing all of the work here."

His hands shot off the couch and to her waist – she took one of them and wrapped her fingers around his whitened knuckles.

"One hand only, for now."

Jareth's eyes darkened. He pulled the one hand from her fingers, and let it fall back to his side, and slid the other like a knife between her legs, watching her face for a reaction.

Sarah worked on keeping her breathing steady, and refused to look away from him.

He raised his eyebrows, and one corner of his mouth crooked up, half-smile, half-sneer. "No undergarments whatsoever. You seem to have thought this through ..." He uncoiled his fingers; she gasped and he bared his teeth. "Not so confident anymore, are we?"

_Bastard_.

Sarah sneered back at him. "You're doing it wrong."

His hand stilled. "I _beg_ your pardon?"

"A little higher, please." Sarah moved her body, and watched him stare at her in disbelief. "Jareth ..." She swatted his shoulder. "Pay attention."

A genuine smile tugged at his lips. "Very well." He moved his hand, slightly, and Sarah shuddered at the wave of goosebumps that prickled her skin – that was it – right there –

"There, Jareth –" She let her head fall back. "_Right _there – keep doing that –"

_God_ – she felt the heat from the wine spreading from her gut through her entire body, reaching the tips of her fingers – Sarah moaned, and brought her own hands to her breasts, and caressed herself where she was aching to be touched –

Jareth faltered – Sarah tipped her head forward, and grinned as she saw how his mouth had fallen open.

"See something you like?"

She slipped one hand beneath the neckline of the slip, and watched his teeth snap together. "_Fuck –_"

"Exactly." Sarah leaned in, and brushed his mouth with hers, and whispered: "The first night, Jareth, I wasn't sure what to expect; and the second – well, we both remember last night –" she felt him smile against her lips – which turned into a wince when she nipped him – "but tonight ... tonight, Jareth ..."

She kissed him, softly this time.

"Tonight, you do what _I _want."

He moved his hand, slowly, and brought his face closer to hers. "And what _do_ you want?"

Sarah took a deep breath, catching the rhythm of his fingers. "It's been a long week, Jareth – for both of us ... I don't know if you –"

"What do you want?" His voice was husky, intimate where his mouth pressed against her ear.

"I'm not sure you can –"

"Try me."

Feeling as though she were jumping off a cliff, Sarah turned and kissed him. "I want to have the best sex of my life – I want your mouth on me – I want you in me –"

She pulled him closer and the kiss rapidly turned into _something _that made her head buzz, strangely – she blinked away a sudden haze, aware of her stomach churning, and felt his sharp teeth with her tongue, and realized that she had fisted her hands in his shirt and was pressing herself against him –

Sarah broke away, breathless. "So give me what I want, Jareth ..."

His eyes were burning in his stark white face. "I want, I want, I want ..." He bared his teeth.. "Take what you want, you precious, _greedy_ thing."

_Am I really going to _–

Sarah leaned forward to kiss him again. "Both hands."

She felt him smile against her lips – and then his free hand trailed over her jaw, his fingers moving in a delicate counterpoint to his mouth –

Breaking away again, Sarah gasped. _So hot_. She was on fire. With one swift roll of her hips and arms, she peeled the slip over her head. _So thirsty –_ She reached out and grabbed the glass of wine, and took a long swallow –

"Sarah ..."

Jareth's voice was low. She opened her eyes and focused on his face, looking up at her.

He was holding out his right hand.

Her pulse thumped in her ears. Sarah gave him the glass of wine.

Jareth raised it in a salute to her, and then turned it, so that his lips touched the rim where hers had been.

Sarah watched him drink the last of the wine, and heard the glass fall with a soft _thud_ on the carpet. His lips were red as she caught them with hers again – that same bitter taste – but now it _burned_, even as her naked body burned, pressed against him – Sarah buried her face in his neck and inhaled his scent as she tore at his cuff links, and pushed and pulled at his suit jacket –

Up close, the red shirt shimmered even more strangely – moving away from his skin where it lay open, and twining around her fingertips – it looked like blood coming to a boil above a fire –

"Jareth –"

"Yes?" His voice was hoarse.

"Jareth – I want ..." she tried to swallow; her mouth was too dry – "I want ..."

She bit back an instinctive protest as he leaned backwards, on his elbows, to get a better look at her –

But then Sarah felt a delicious shiver, as she saw that he was not staring at her body, but into her eyes.

"Take what you want ..."

Sarah felt, rather than saw, Jareth undo the last few buttons of his shirt. He drew back his shoulders, and she drank in the sight of his chest –

"Sarah ..." he whispered. "Princess ..."

She looked back up.

His eyes were dark – it had to be a trick of the light – _but there is no light there_ – _no light in his eyes _– so dark they were almost black.

Those eyes held hers, and would not let go.

"Take what you want ..."

His voice flowed over her, like honey –

"_Take_ what you want ..."

Sarah snarled, and fell on him, kissing wherever she could, trying to devour him – pulling his shirt down his arms with sharp yanks –

– and she caught their reflection in the painting's glass frame – the two of them, moving together _–_ and with the shirt rippling away from his body, Jareth looked for all the world like a snake, coiled in pearl and ivory, shedding a ruby-red skin.

* * *

... 

Two references that I can remember:

"Do sit down, before you fall down." _Raiders of the Lost Ark_

"No undergarments whatsoever ..." _Crossing the Line_, by**Scattered Logic**

You read? Please review!**  
**


	7. Chapter 7, part 1

**In a Glass, Darkly**

**Chapter 7, Part 1  
**

* * *

Sarah looked around and

– there was the Labyrinth, gleaming in the sun, its intricate coils and turns glittering like a tiled pattern on a marble floor –

_it's further than you think – and time is short –_

– she took a step down, and another, down down tumbling down the hill and she had sand in her shoes –

_come on, feet –_

– and there was the gate to the Labyrinth, ancient and dour – vines coiling around it, and one of the vines rippled and _changed _and reached out to her, and wrapped around her arm –

_hello – I like you – you feel like spring – you smell like the sun -_

– she looked into the gates – but they weren't gates anymore – they had changed into one immense, beautiful silver mirror, and she smiled at her reflection –

_hello _–_ I'm Sarah who are you?_

– and she saw the gates of the Labyrinth shimmer, and then the huge mirror dissolved into a fine silver dust that fell upon her like a blessing – the flames flattened out into a golden and amber highway, and she stepped over the snake with one foot and trod it into the ground with the other –

_you have no power over me _–

– and the silver dust changed into rain. It fell upon her, cooling her and washing away all traces of pain and fear and fire –

_when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears _–

– and she took a deep breath, and prepared to strike out on the road of gold and amber –

_wait ..._

– she heard a small voice, crying –

_wait …_

–the snake lay there, broken-looking, huddled in a heap before the gates of the Labyrinth –

_don't go ..._

– she felt a sudden rush of compassion, and knelt down to speak to the small creature –

_what is it?_

– and the broken angles smoothed into silver coils –

_I have a secret to tell you -_

– she bent forward –

_what is it?_

– the snake shifted –

_closer ..._

– she eased one foot off the path –

_what?_

– the snake's eyes glittered, tiny jewels set in its lithe silver body as it undulated towards her –

_closer ..._

– she hunched down where she knelt to hear its soft voice –

_what is it? I can hardly hear you – _

- and she felt the snake lick her ear and whisper -

_you feel like spring _–_ you smell like the sun _–_ you taste like the beauty of a rose in bloom, and the ripest fruit from the tree in the middle of the garden _–

– she tried to draw back –

_I've heard this before _–

– and the snake grew, and rippled its long body up and down her arm –

_you stand upon the moon and you wear a crown of stars _–_ you are the beginning _–_ you are the end _–

– it coiled itself around her wrists –

_you are my heart's desire _–

– and its words were as soft as feathers and as sweet as the coo of a dove –

_you are my heart's desire _–

– and Sarah felt the warm sand of the Labyrinth caress her skin as she rolled off the gold and amber path –

_you are my heart's desire _–

– and the snake bent down to kiss her where she lay –

_heart's desire _–

– and it somehow grew even bigger, and twisted around her entire body – and she felt pleasure unfurl within her like a slowly opening ostrich-feather fan –

_heart's desire _–_ heart's desire _–_ sun moon stars _–_ spring rose fruit rain sky _–_ heart's desire _–_ heart's desire _–

– the words beat in time with her heart –

_oh _–

– she heard herself say, in a surprised voice – as the snake slipped fingers of silver over her and around her and into her, sliding across her body and through her mind, bringing her to a peak of ecstasy –

_wait _–

– fingers?

_since when do snakes have fingers?_

"Oh!"

And Sarah sat up in bed, her heart pounding.

* * *

_Just a dream. It was just a dream._

_But it was a__** good**__ dream _– an inner voice murmured – _it was delicious _–_ quick, go back to sleep and maybe _–

"Nope." Sarah smiled into the darkness, reveling in the warmth and delight of pain gone, of a warm bed and a good night's sleep – "I don't think so. Once I'm up, I'll stay up –" she fumbled for the clock – _seven thirty?_– "and I'll be right on time ..."

She stretched out both arms –

– and her yawn turned into a shriek when one of her hands bumped against a body that was not her own –

Whatever it was moved abruptly, and said – "What?" in a voice groggy with sleep.

Sarah fumbled for her bedside lamp, and flicked it on.

A yelp – and she half-laughed, despite her thumping heart, at the sight of Jareth covering his eyes with one hand.

"By the ninth circle – could you turn that damned thing _down_?"

"What –" Sarah adjusted the dimmer switch. "What are you still doing here?"

"What am I still doing here?" Jareth yawned. "Well, I'm ..." He looked at her, gasped, and hid his face behind his hands.

"Well, I'm – what?" she demanded.

His voice was muffled by his palms. "I'm shielding my eyes from your dazzling beauty, my love."

"What?!" Looking down, Sarah squeaked as she saw that she was still naked. She yanked the sheet up to her neck.

"Oh, don't do _that _..." Jareth peeped out from between his fingers. "Please?"

Staring at his eyes, at how they gleamed with fun, Sarah bit back another disbelieving laugh.

His hair was askew, his grin was infectious – _he looks like a child_ – and when he dropped his hands from his face to stare at her with unconcealed desire, she blushed.

"Jareth –" and her voice caught as he tipped his head – _so much like a child _– and his smile broadened – "I'm serious. What are you still doing here?"

He raised his eyebrows. "What time is it?"

"Seven thirty-two – oh." Sarah felt like smacking herself – _sunset to sunrise_ – "You still have –"

"Twenty-five minutes –" the clock flickered – "Twenty-four minutes, alas." The long muscles in his back went taut as he stretched out both arms in front of him, like a cat. "Time waits for no man ..." He glanced at her – "and for no woman."

–_ You're not a man _–

–_ No _–

The memory swam back in front of her eyes – Jareth at the mouth of the alley, rotten to the core, and leering at her –

But that same memory looked dim, somehow, as though she were seeing it through a thick windowpane.

_He can't hurt me anymore. Nothing that he says, or does, can hurt me. It's all over, and done. I've __**won**__. He has _–

"– no power over me –" she muttered aloud.

"Quite the mood breaker," Jareth grumped. He folded his arms across his chest and flopped backwards onto one of her pillows.

Sarah grinned, and then laughed out loud at the sulky look on his face.

"Gloat all you want, Sarah." He turned on his side to face her; she took in the golden-ivory lines of neck, shoulder, arm and chest, and her heart skipped.

"Yes ..." Jareth stretched again, deliberately, watching her reaction with – _those eyes _... "Gloat as much as you please – you've earned it."

Sarah fell onto the bed herself, feeling another yawn crack her jaw. "I _did _earn it – and your promise, Jareth –" she poked his shoulder with one finger. "I persuaded you. Remember your promise."

He made a sour face. "Don't remind me."

"Why not?" All of the torment – the torture –_ for that's what it had been **- **__**torture**_ - Sarah thought to herself, fiercely – all of it had been worth it. "I win. None of the losers of the Labyrinth will be tortured or harmed _ever _again –"

She inhaled, as Jareth placed two fingers at her mouth. "Shhh ..."

He looked intently into her eyes – his own glowed in the dim light of the lamp. "My dear," he whispered. "I remember what I promised you. I will never again harm anyone who loses at the Labyrinth." His fingers began to trace the outline of her lips. "You have mastered me ..."

"Have I?" Sarah smiled against his fingertips.

Jareth smiled crookedly, raised his eyebrows. Nodded.

"Then I really do want to gloat ..." Sarah purred. "I'm not usually one to do so, but faced with such a loser –" he narrowed his eyes and she bit at one of his fingers – "who could resist?"

"Certainly not you." He traced the line of her jaw with one hand, then spread both hands across her shoulders, drawing her closer.

Sarah let her eyes fall shut. "And you can't resist me ... can you?" She felt Jareth's low growl as she teased his lower lip – then she took a deep breath and kissed him fully, running her hands up and down his arms.

She closed her mind against everything but the sensation of his lips on hers – thin but warm, and soft, and moving against her mouth like nothing she had ever experienced – _except earlier this morning, of course _–_ and last night _–_ and in my dreams _–

–_ you are my heart's desire _–

Sarah broke the kiss and looked into his eyes. This close, she saw flecks of gold and silver in the blue – _so beautiful _–

"What is it?" The words puffed against her mouth.

"I don't know –" She grimaced internally at the sound of her own voice – soft, and plaintive. _Let's not be a bimbo, here _–

Shaking her head, she dismissed the dream. "How long do you have until –" she swallowed – "until you leave?"

Jareth smiled, and raised his head to look at the clock on her bedside table. "Sixteen minutes." His eyes glinted. "Any ideas as to how you want to spend it?"

Sarah opened her mouth, ready to retort with equal suggestiveness – but then the dream-voice crept back through her mind –

– _you are my heart's desire _–

She shut her mouth with a snap.

"Sarah ..." Jareth had edged closer to her. "Princess ..."

Closing her eyes, she shivered at his words, and the tone with which he said them.

"What is it?"

Sarah mutely shook her head.

"Tell me ..." Jareth murmured. "What troubles you so?"

"I had –" She swallowed, hard. "I had a strange dream."

He was silent.

Before she could stop herself, she continued. "I dreamed you were a snake, Jareth – at least, I think it was you ... And you kissed me, and you spoke to me ..." Sarah finished in a rush. "And you said: 'You are my heart's desire.'"

She waited for his reply. None came.

Opening her eyes, Sarah glared at him. "Say something!"

His face was impassive. "What would you have me say?"

She bit her lip. "I don't know –"

"I think you do know, Sarah ..."

Jareth slipped out of her grasp, and sat up straight. Sarah rose with him, holding the sheet tight. She kept her eyes on his face – and then on the back of his head, as he left the bed, and walked to her vanity, and took the crystal –

– an alarm went off in her mind. _The crystal_._ The feather _–

And then all thought fled as she saw him fix a burning look upon her – and as he bent one knee to the ground. _Kneeling? Jareth? Why would he _–

_Oh, my God. Oh, holy __**shit**_–

"Sarah ..." Jareth whispered. "_My_ Sarah. _Princess_. You know that, inasmuch as I have a heart – you have it ... and you, _you_ are its desire. Everything you have dreamed has been truth. You hold the light of dreams in your body, in your mind –" he gestured with the crystal orb, and its glow grew brighter – "You are a dream weaver ... and such a one, that I desire you with everything I am and ever will be."

Sarah gulped – it made a small noise in her throat that she immediately hoped he had not heard. He smiled, though, warmth spreading across his face. "Sarah. You know that I desire you. Come with me."

_... What?_

_Say something_.

"Come with you?" She tried to keep her voice light; it sounded brittle. "I've come with you already. Several times, in fact."

He laughed. "Clever girl – _wicked _girl. You desire me as well – I have read this truth emblazoned on your mind, and tasted it upon your lips, and felt it deep within your body ..." Sarah's mouth went dry and the hand holding the sheet loosened. He saw her reaction, and his eyes flared. "Come with me, Sarah. Come to the Labyrinth, and be my Queen."

_Wait. Think. _Sarah felt her breath coming faster at the memory of what that voice could do to her – _for _her – what it had done for her just hours before –

_No, don't think about __**that**_ –_ Think! Why is he doing this?_

_... Queen? Queen of the Labyrinth?_

_... a dream weaver? Creating everything I've ever studied? Actually __**making**__ dreams?_

Her breath caught. For one long moment, she saw the Labyrinth before her eyes, stretching into infinity, ancient and mysterious and overflowing with knowledge and beauty –

And then Sarah gasped in earnest – she _did _see the Labyrinth. It was in the mirror, reflecting on her vanity –

"All this I will give you, Sarah – this and more. So much more – if you will only come with me."

–_ just let me rule you _–

Sarah's skin prickled at the memory. She shivered, and glanced from the mirror back to Jareth.

He had not moved his eyes from her. She looked into them, into the strange, glowing depth of blue – beautiful, magical – but somehow otherworldly ... and she felt another twinge of fear –

Jareth revolved the crystal in his hand, and whispered: "Sarah – look what I'm offering you ..."

– _look what I'm offering you _–_ your dreams _–

"Sarah ... _Princess_ ..." he hissed. "Come with me. Come with me, _now_. I will give you all the kingdoms of the world, and their splendor, if you will but come with me."

–_ look what I'm offering you _–

Memory came crashing back through the thick windowpane in her mind –

– it was her birthday – and he was there in the mirror – and the walls of the room pressed in on her further in black bands – and was it a trick of the mirror or the angle of light that made the beauty of his face twist and distort into rage – all of a sudden he was so much closer in the mirror, pressing one palm against the other side of the glass and baring his teeth in a snarl his eyes molten silver glowing white-hot with fury –

– and the Goblin King smiled –

– _too late_ –

– and he jammed the needle into Aaron's right eye –

–_ I always knew you were shallow Sarah _– _you'd do well to remember pretty is as pretty does _–

–_ to and fro upon the earth walking up and down in it _– _places to visit, people to see _– _I'm a busy man –_

– _you're not a man – _

– _no _––_ Sarah _– _when did I ever imply that I wanted you to kiss my mouth? _–

–_ that's it _–_ that's right _–_ just like that _–_ ah _– _when did you learn to do this so __**well**__ precious thing? _–

–_ and where do you think __**you're**__ going? _–

– _listen to me _– _no no _– _mustn't turn that pretty head of yours, precious _– _listen to me _– _I could keep you here all night _– _all_ _night_ _long _– _and I think I will, because you want me to, don't you Sarah _– _don't you – admit it _– _no, __**say **__it or I'll have you screaming it before I'm through _–

–_ let me do this to you, and this – you've always wanted me to do this – haven't you? _–

–_ I want to pin you to the wall and fuck you until you cannot __**move **__–_

–_** anything**__ to oblige you – _

–_ when the left hand knows not what the right hand is doing _–

–_ how long do you think it will take that romantic bridegroom Sarah to figure out how to do __**this **_–

–_ you like it when I do this to you, don't you Sarah _–_ you like it because you're a filthy _–_ little _–_** whore**_ –_ say it _– _no, say it louder _–_ louder _–

–_ now that's too loud _–_ open your mouth_ –_ do it _–_ do it __**now **_–_ there _–_ silence is golden, screaming is silver, tears are diamonds, so by the time I'm done I'll have a fucking __**treasure **__chest, you understand? _–

– _really, Sarah, you'll wake the neighbors _–

– _poor dear – cat got your tongue, but I've got the rest, haven't I? _–

– the snake whispered in her ear –

_you would not have your dreams, Sarah? _–

– it kissed her –

_your dreams, Sarah _–

– and then it coiled around her body –

_look what I'm offering you _–

– again – and again – undulating around her in a rhythm that she matched, writhing in pleasure –

_your dreams _–

– it gazed down into her eyes –

_sweet dreams _–

– and the huge silver snake twisted tighter, and _squeezed_ – she heard the pop and snap of her own ribs breaking, and then she could not breathe _– _

_sweets for the sweet my darling –_

_– _and then its jaws gaped wide to swallow her whole –

_sweet –_

Sarah screamed, and woke up.

* * *

_A dream? Tell me that was a dream. Oh God, oh God _–

"Oh, my **God** _–_" she gasped, then whirled, where she sat upright in the bed, and almost screamed again _–_ for Jareth was there _–_ he hadn't moved _–_ he was still holding out the crystal, and his face had gone white with rage at her words.

"Sarah _–_" he hissed.

"No!"

The crystal orb burned into her eyes, searing them –

"_Come_ with me, Sarah!" he snarled.

"NO!" She shouted as loudly as she could. "I **defeated** you, Goblin King! Leave! Leave right **now** _–_ because _–_" she looked wildly at the rose-gold light easing around the curtains _–_ "That's the sunrise. That's the _sunrise_, and your time is **up**! You _**lost**_, Jareth _–_ now _take yourself __**away**__ from me!_"

The walls caught on fire, and the carpet, and the vanity _–_ burning with silver flames of his fury _–_ and she heard his scream reverberate through the room as his image fractured, splintered, and dissolved into silver dust that flew through the air _–_

But then the dust coalesced into a vague shape that stood at the edge of her bed, whirling, glittering, amorphous _– _when he _–_ it _–_ spoke, it was in a voice completely cold, and alien _–_

_– this is not over, between us – _

"Oh yes it is, you **bastard**!" she spat.

_– third time's the charm, Sarah –_

"You've lost!" she shrieked. "**Go**! Go away!"

_–_ _a warning, then, my crusader –_

The shape solidified into Jareth _–_ in a strange robe, shining so brightly that she had to squeeze her eyes shut and shield her face with her hands _–_

_–_ _Look to your subjects, crusader. Sarah. __**Princess**__ – Look to your vassals – for power can prove a double-edged sword –_

"Power _–_ no _– __**you have no power over me**_!"

Sarah screamed until her voice gave out, overpowering Jareth's howl of rage. The light blazed through the room, and then crashed through the window and into the mirror in a rush of wind, and feathers, and magic _–_

_–_ and she woke up, gasping and crying_ –_

* * *

_A dream? Tell me that was a dream. Please, let that have been a dream too –_

"Sarah?"

She shivered at the sound of his voice, and buried her face in her hands.

"What is it?"

That voice _–_ so gentle _–_ closer, now ... she peered through her fingers and saw where he was kneeling at the side of her bed.

The stark planes of his face were softened in the rosy glow beginning to ease up the edges of the window curtain. He looked like an icon, ivory painted with gold and silver, delicate and incomparably beautiful ...

Sarah gulped, and hugged her arms to herself as she saw the crystal, now resting innocently in his hands, his graceful fingers twined around it.

"Jareth ..." Her voice croaked.

"My own dear love." He unlinked one of his hands from the other, reached out, and rested it on her knee. She felt the warmth of his skin through the blanket. "What is it? I do not care to leave you so sorrowful ..."

"I had a vision of you _–_ such a strange dream _–_ wait _–_" she stuttered. "You're leaving?"

"Yes _–_ I must." Jareth smiled; it looked sad. He watched her, for a quiet moment, then sighed. "And you will not come with me, will you? Not for all the kingdoms of the world, and their splendor."

She exhaled in one long and shuddering breath. "No, Jareth ... I have my work here. I know my purpose now."

His look turned inward. "And I cannot take you from it, it would seem." He peered up at her through his silver hair, his eyes hooded. "Can I?"

Sarah felt the skin on the back of her neck prickle. "No."

"Well, then." He stared at where his fingers laid on her knee. Then he reached for her hand, and gently took it.

"Will you not kiss me, before I go?"

Sarah bit her lip, hard. _If this is a dream, I want to wake up, right now, before I get set on fire, or __devoured, or freaked the __**fuck **__out somehow –_

"Sarah ..." He kissed her hand. "My princess."

"Shh." She turned her fingers upward, and traced his mouth with them. "Here." Striving to lighten the moment, and to banish any last remnants of her fear, she smiled. "Take one for the road."

And before she could reconsider, she bent forward and kissed him.

Sarah kept her eyes closed, so she could not see his expression, even if she wanted to ... She tasted salt, though, and a hint of bitterness _–_ and something sweet as well _–_

_Honey and milk are under thy tongue – _the phrase flashed across her memory –

Then her mind shivered, as she heard his voice _– somehow inside – _inside her head –

_– thank you –_

She spoke in return –

_– no problem –_

Was that a hint of laughter?

_– such good intentions –_

She did not reply, but sighed against his mouth instead.

And then the timbre of his voice changed, in her mind _–_

_– my crusader ... my own dear princess ... look to your vassals –_

Something changed, in the air _–_

_– be watchful – be vigilant –_

Sarah gasped, as she felt a breeze through the window –

_– __heart's desire __–_

And she opened her eyes in time to see his own fixed upon her, as the wind swept through the glass and through the fading lines of his form, as he let the crystal orb float away, cupping her face in his hands instead – and as his body, his face, his hair, his eyes, everything about him dissolved into nothingness in the warm golden light of the risen sun.

* * *

Her alarm clock blared.

Sarah blinked awake, and stared up at the ceiling. Her head was pounding.

She knew what it was.

_For once_.

Nothing weird, nothing supernatural or magical. Just a plain, everyday, honest-to-goodness hangover.

Rolling over, she squinted at the vanity.

No orb, no feather.

Sarah grinned, and punched the air – and immediately regretted it, as her stomach churned.

"All right, all right," she groaned. "First thing – water; second thing, sleep. Oh – and …"

Sliding out of bed, she grabbed her cell phone and dialed the psychiatric department.

The message droned, and ended with a _beep_.

"Hello," Sarah said – and then modified her tone to sound ill. "It's Dr. Williams – I have the 'flu … and I won't be coming in until Monday. Keep Mrs. Johnston on the Risperdal, and have Dr. Brown talk to Rachel Duvall."

She hung up, and flopped back into bed – _screw the water _– _and screw Saturday shopping – I'm going to sleep straight through __un__til Monday –_ and fell back asleep.

* * *

On Monday, work was normal.

Sarah walked through her ordinary routine. Same words, same smiles, same stale sandwiches in the cafeteria – but she hardly noticed them, or the coffee that she couldn't seem to get hot enough. Instead, she practically _floated_, feeling as though she were walking on air.

_Does it show?_ Sarah wondered as she walked through the hospital. _Guess what,__ everyone__ … I won. I __**won**__! He has no power over me – I know my purpose now ..._

The first thing she saw when she breezed into the NICU was her own smile, reflected in the glass doors. The next thing she saw was Ben – _Ben! _– slumped over by own of the incubators.

"Hey, Father!" She reached out, and flicked his collar.

"Hmm?" Ben blinked and rubbed at his eyelids.

"I said: Hey, Father!"

"Oh." Ben sighed, and stretched. "Hey, Doctor – wait –" He peered at her. "Hey, indeed, Doctor. Make hay while the sun shines, Doctor. You're looking a lot better than you have – for a while –"

"You know it." Sarah tossed her hair, and smirked. She had foregone her customary knot in favor of letting her hair hang loose that day. _New era – new look._

Ben swallowed, and Sarah noticed the dark rings around his eyes. "But you, Father –" She mimed a punch at his shoulder. "You're not looking well at all. What's up?"

He shrugged, tiredly, and ran one hand across his unshaven jaw. "Bad dreams." A sigh. "And then I stayed up pretty late with this little guy." His uneven gesture encompassed the incubator – the infant whose mother she recalled singing and rocking –

"Rachel Duvall," Sarah whispered, remembering. "Where is she? She was in the psych ward Friday night –"

"Yeah." Ben grimaced. "AMA."

Sarah's jaw dropped. "What?!"

"You heard me. She checked out on – let me think – Saturday morning. Haven't seen her since."

"But – but why? _How_?!"

"The usual way." Ben's voice was rough. "Left against medical advice, with the words, and I quote: 'I've been punished enough.'"

Sarah inhaled, hearing the hidden meaning in the words. _Punished_. Rachel Duvall had been punished – _forget about the baby_, she had whispered … But she must have been repeating what she had heard – what someone had said to her, earlier, when she had made a wish –

_Forget about the baby –_

_I've been punished enough –_

It all fit together. Sarah felt her heart thump, hard, in her chest. Rachel Duvall had lost her baby to the Labyrinth – the Goblin King must have been punishing her –

Except now he had stopped.

" – threw everything in a bag and practically ran out of here." Ben was still speaking, his voice low. He tapped his fingers against the top of the incubator – the frail, tiny baby cheeped, hardly audible above the whir and buzz of machinery.

"And what about the baby?" Sarah could hardly hear her own whisper.

Ben shrugged again. "We didn't think he was going to make it, Friday night – but then he pulled through. Well – kind of."

"Kind of?"

The lines of fatigue deepened in his face. "Sarah, he's not thriving. No, forget thriving – he's not even making up for lost ground, anymore. Still not putting on any weight. The first cold he catches –" and Ben flicked his fingers against the glass. "You see how it is."

"Yes." _I see_.

Sarah saw. Of course the baby wasn't thriving. Of course he looked frail, and wispy, as though a breath of air could make him dissolve. He didn't belong …

The words echoed through her mind.

_He doesn't belong here, anymore …__ He belongs to th__e Goblin King. He belongs __**with **__the Goblin King …_

Or he _did_ – did he still? Maybe that was part of the victory. Perhaps she had to keep him in this world … Sarah looked down at the baby, ensconced in the glass and wire. _I'll protect you. I'll help you grow. I'll keep you safe …_

"But you look a lot better, Doctor –" Ben spoke lightly, obviously trying to change the subject. He turned away from the incubator and began to walk with her to the door. "You got over – whatever it was?"

Sarah smiled fiercely. "Yes." _I've won. I've __**won**__, and he's __**gone**__, and he'll stay gone, now, even if I do remember –_

_heart's desire –_

– and she sucked in a breath at the memory of Jareth running one hand down her legs, in the darkness, with the feeling of silk sliding over silk, and he had brought his hand back up to her hip and had kissed between her breasts, over her heart, and had whispered –

_heart's desire –_

Sarah shook herself away from the image, her mouth dry. Ben was still talking. "Well, good. Whatever the cure for whatever that was, bottle it and give me some –" he yawned – "cause I'm going to need it, before the next few weeks are up."

"Oh?"

"Yep. A few more weeks, and then the Holy Week blitz, and _then _I have Easter to worry about – Easter baptisms, Easter confirmations, Easter weddings – all Easter, all the time. I'll probably end up eating nothing but Cadbury and Peeps in order to pull through –" He struck a pose of dramatic anguish, and then dropped it. "And speaking of weddings, Lyn will be back in a week …"

Sarah kept her voice airy. "Really?"

"Yeah …" Ben darted a glance at her, a tentative look on his face. "You know, she'd like to see you."

Sarah knew nothing of the sort, but she smiled anyway. "Why not?"

"Really?" Her friend brightened. "Can I pass the word along?"

"Again …" They had reached the door. "Why not?"

"Great." His face was still weary, but now he smiled back at her. "I'm glad you're feeling better, Sarah –"

"Mm." She began to peel off her gloves.

" – and – about that guy …"

A glove snapped. Sarah yelped, and shook the sting from her hand.

"Sarah?"

"Yeah?" she sighed. "What about him?"

"Well, I'm sorry." Sarah looked at her friend, surprised; Ben looked serious. "It was none of my business – who he was, and what you were doing with him."

"Oh." Then, remembering, she cut Ben off as he was opening his mouth to speak again. "Wait – I was going to ask you - what did you see? What did he remind you of? What freaked you out to such a great extent –" she raised an eyebrow – "Father?"

Ben flushed. "I said you wouldn't believe me."

"Sure I will."

"It might take a while."

"I've got time." She opened the door. "Come on. Walk me to the elevator, why don't you?"

"Well." He fell into a walk beside her, and cleared his throat. "You know – it was just one of those silly things that you do when you're young …"

"Even when you were young, you didn't do anything stupid. I was there, remember? At least, in college."

"Fine. To make a very long and very stupid story short – I went on a mission trip to New York City, in seminary, and I –" he swallowed – "I was getting sick of the whole thing."

"The mission trip?"

"And seminary, really. So I went gambling a bit. I'm pretty good at poker, you know."

"And that's the big surprise?"

"No. A friend - or - someone I thought was a friend ... invited me to a party. It was in a big hotel."

Sarah quickened her step. "I don't see how -"

"No, let me _finish_. I don't know how, but I got up to the penthouse suite. They weren't playing cards there. They were doing - I don't know what kind of drugs. There was no light. Everyone had flashlights, and it was packed full of people, and noisy, and."

"And?"

"They had - people dancing on the tables."

"Were these ... _women _people, Ben?" Sarah sighed. "All that sexual repression: it's the gift that keeps on giving."

"You don't understand, Sarah. Yes, they were women. But they were stark naked, and high as kites, and - being made to do things."

"How did you know they were high?"

Ben stopped walking. Sarah stopped with him. "I mean, usually you need to be close enough to see the shakes, or the pupils, or ... other behavior. Exhibitionists exist in this world, yes? Just because people are naked doesn't mean they're out of their minds."

"All right." He closed his eyes. "I was close enough to smell - the breath, from one of them. She looked terrible. And when she opened her mouth at me, I saw - she had fillings, yeah, but her tongue was bleeding."

Sarah reached out to push the elevator button. "Do I want to hear the rest of this?"

"All right. To sum up: then I had this horrible hallucination of the Devil coming to take me to Hell."

_The Devil! The Prince of Darkness! _Sarah sighed. "Just like that?"

"The woman tried to touch my face; I wanted to get up to leave the table. But someone put a hand on my shoulder. It was so heavy I could hardly move. Everything went quiet, and I heard my own heart - and get this: I could only see one person's reflection in the table. Not my own, not the woman's. Only the one with the hand on my shoulder."

Her skin prickled.

"I got up anyway. Just some hands-y guy, right? So I turned, and - in this guy's face, there was _nothing_. And then I looked around and there was nothing. And then I looked back, and ... it was like all the walls in the room were made of nothing but - blood and teeth. The guy was in the middle of it all. He smiled at me."

"That sounds scary."

"I don't know how I knew it, but he held out one hand, and - everything was sharp, and coming at my eyes, and my head, and my heart, and -"

"Beware of the big, nasty pointy teeth?"

"I knew you wouldn't believe me."

"I _believe _you had an hallucination, but that it could have been from any drug cocktail. You'd nothing to blame yourself for."

Ben exhaled in a gust. "Right. So I went back to seminary, and dreamed bad dreams for a few years, but then my last-year roommate told my confessor about what I kept saying in my sleep – and _he _dragged it out of me and gave me merry hell for screwing around with … what did he say … 'powers of evil' - "

"He means drugs? Or the naked women?"

"– and he gave me _another _mission trip as penance – but in Alaska instead of New York. Six months, freezing my penitent ass off in the cold and snow."

"They got medieval on your ass. So that's what you saw, with my – acquaintance?" _not going to say 'friend', because he wasn't my friend – my lover, though – and if I keep thinking along those lines I'm going to get in so much trouble if I don't pay attention to anything but –_

– the memory of Jareth, tracing his fingers across her hips in patterns that caught at her skin with tiny flashes of heat – feathering kisses over her breasts and sighing – _heart's desire – heart's desire –_

She shook her head, hard. "Was there anything else? I've got a lot to do."

"Thanks a lot, _Doctor_ –" Ben grimaced. "To answer your question – it was the way that guy stood – or walked – or _something _- that just made me remember –" He ground to a halt.

"Remember what?"

"Huh." He looked confused. "I _don't _remember." Ben turned to look at Sarah fully. "I don't remember what he looked like."

"Who? Your Satan? Or my guy?"

"... Your guy."

"Convenient. Of course you don't remember."

"Just ... tell me I'm not crazy, Doctor."

"You're normal." _A normal tourist_. She pressed the button for the elevator. "And you were using tropes, archetypes – images familiar to you, from your studies and from your beliefs – to create a projection suitable for thoughts and feelings that were truly, deeply troubling you at the time –"

Ben looked white.

Sarah sighed again; decided, despite everything, to try to lighten the mood. "Or you were just on drugs. Didn't your mom ever tell you not to take anything from strangers?"

"My mom was an exemplary one - no food, no drink, no candy, _nothing _from a stranger. And for the other: Jesuit, pediatrician wannabe, rock star, all-around nice guy ... _priest_, remember?" He spread his hands. "No drugs allowed."

"But you, Father, _don't _remember – and that in itself indicates that a veritable cornucopia of substances could have been percolating in your system –"

"Yeah, yeah."

The elevator doors opened. Sarah stepped inside.

Ben put his hands in his pockets, and then spoke, hurriedly. "So – how about that guy?"

Sarah inclined her head as the doors slid shut.

"Long gone."

* * *

_Long gone. Long gone. I've won. Guess what, everybody? I faced down my inner demon – and he tried to terrorize me, and torture me, and then seduce me – but I withstood him and I __**won **__–_

"Dr. Williams?"

Sarah wheeled on one foot, catching the tapping of the cane before seeing Dr. Michaels fix her with a curious expression. She blinked, and then gaped, inwardly, as she realized that she had walked to the psych ward without knowing it.

"Yes, sir?"

"No need for that, really …" The older man spoke softly. "In fact, I would not be surprised if you will be coming in for a great deal of respect, if young Mr. Cohen makes a full recovery –"

At Sarah's gasp, he frowned. "They didn't tell you?"

"Oh – ah –" Sarah fumbled for words, then gathered her wits back together, and enunciated carefully. "I was out sick over the weekend, so anything that happened – well, I just got back, is all."

"I see." Dr. Michaels was unaware of the irony as he stepped closer to her, his shadowed glasses showing her startled reflection. "Well, Aaron emerged from his coma on Saturday morning, and insisted that he was, in his words, 'all better now.' We will continue to monitor him, of course, but it would appear that the first signs of recovery are there, and promising –"

"Wait a minute." Sarah interrupted. "I mean – sir – we're still going to treat him? After he made a full recovery?"

"Nobody has yet said anything about a full recovery, Dr. Williams," the older man said, in a testy voice. "Young Aaron has been alternately delirious and catatonic for the past week, and afflicted with schizophrenia for the past two years. We are not going to release him from the hospital solely on his say-so, no matter how confident he appears to be."

Sarah bit her lip. "He's – confident, you say?"

Dr. Michaels began walking – she hastened to keep up. "Yes – or, at least, he was on Saturday morning. He seemed rather upset at being informed of his removal to the Briarwood facility – although Dr. Brown was quite gentle in explaining the need for further monitoring –"

"He's upset?" Her voice was faint; she could hardly feel where she was biting down on her mouth – her lips felt numb.

They walked through the doors of the psychiatric ward; Sarah could immediately hear Aaron's shrieking.

"Very much so. In fact –" Dr. Michaels turned his face toward her – "It is quite odd, Dr. Williams, that he should appear to have fixated on you in such a way. But he insists that you spoke to the figure in his hallucinations, and convinced it to refrain from tormenting him any further. Now I have no idea why he should choose to express himself thusly – but –" and his look turned intent – "Do you have any notion of why he would say such a thing?"

Sarah felt her blood pulsing in her ears.

_I can't tell them what happened. They'd never believe me. They'd think I was a lunatic – and – and they'd slap him right back in the ward – hell, __**I **__would slap him right back in the ward if he came to me with that story, if I hadn't seen what I had seen – _

She swallowed hard, took a deep breath. _I'm sorry, Aaron …_

"No." She forced a smile. "No – I haven't a clue."

"Ah. Yes. There was some malfunction in the psych ward cameras Friday night, and in the card scanner – you didn't visit him at all?"

Sarah felt cold. She trailed her fingers over a heating vent, hoping to warm them. "No."

"He seems to think you did."

"I assure you, Doctor –" she licked her lips. "It's his imagination. Or perhaps it was a dream he had – perhaps he's trying to express his anxiety about moving away from a schizoid state by projecting the action onto a figure of authority, and thus validating it –"

She heard the jargon spill from her mouth as though from a distance; her mind recoiled as she saw her coworkers, and Dr. Brown, clustered around a stretcher that was being wheeled towards her down the hallway.

Aaron was crying, like he had before ... she half expected to see the Goblin King prancing alongside the stretcher - grinning, juggling a crystal or two - but there was nothing - there would be nothing, because - _I won - I defeated him ..._

The words sounded bleak, in her own mind.

"Here they are –" Dr. Michaels began, and then the boy saw him, and her, and began to thrash, and sat up on the cot.

"Dr. Williams –" he moaned. "Dr. Williams – please please _please _don't let them take me away – I'm all better – you saw that I'm all better – you talked to the Goblin King and he said that nothing would ever hurt me again – please – _please _– please tell them how you talked to him –"

Sarah felt the eyes of everyone on her; she took a deep breath, and spoke soothingly. "Aaron – I know you're scared, but – but you're just going with Dr. Brown for a little while, to a very nice place – and they'll help you get all better there –"

"I _am _all better!" His voice rose to a hysterical pitch. "He's gone! He's never going to bother me again – and you saved me – you saved me, Dr. Williams – please tell them what happened."

"Shh –" She placed one hand on his shoulder, and then moved it to his sweaty brow. "Oh, honey, you've got a fever – just let us take care of you, and then you'll be able to go wherever you want, and do what you like best, O.K.?"

Sarah stepped back, and nodded to the orderlies.

"No!" Aaron shrieked as they gently pushed him back down. "No – Dr. Williams – "I'm _not _**crazy**! Help me, Dr. Williams! **Help **me!"

"Good-bye, Aaron," she spoke, softly. "I'll see you soon."

"Help me – help me – I want my – Dr. Williams –" he choked, crying, "I want my dad – I want my mom – mommy –"

Sarah took another deep breath, shaking, as the orderlies rolled the stretcher away, with Dr. Brown at its head, holding Aaron's hand. Then they went through the ward doors, and they were gone.

Her coworkers stood around her, Dr. Michaels with them.

Then somebody exhaled, loudly, and the silent tension broke.

"Uphill battle, but he'll be O.K. –"

"Once they get him to stop screaming like a banshee –"

"Just send him a few cough drops, and give the Briarwood people a heads-up –"

A guffaw was hastily swallowed as Dr. Michaels spoke with authority.

"All right, enough - we still have a full roster, so if you would return to your assigned duties –"

"Hey, Williams," one of the younger doctors jibed. "Come on and work that magic on my main man – Delrae Jones – the guy dreams a different dream every night –"

Sarah could almost hear the last straw snap.

"Oh, will you shut _up_?!" she barked. "I have no idea what the _hell _that kid was dreaming about, but if you'd back the fuck _off _I'd appreciate it –"

Silence fell, in the wake of her words.

Sarah gulped, looking around the circle of her colleagues. Some eyes were wide, some were abashed, and some understanding –

"Well, Dr. Williams has been under considerable stress, as have we all." Dr. Michaels' voice smoothed over the awkward moment. "But let us return to work. Ladies, gentleman, doctors all – duty calls."

His wristwatch announced _– eleven – A – M – _and punctuated it with a loud, obnoxious rooster crow, echoing in the silence.

There was some shifting, as a few individuals peeled off the group – but silence remained – and in the long, quiet moment that stretched before she left to go on her rounds, Sarah found herself swallowing against a lump in her throat.

She walked to the ward doors.

_Trust him to figure out a way to hurt me, even when he kept his promise. Bastard. The absolute **bastard **_-

Sarah gulped again, and massaged at her throat, willing the ache to go away.

_He__ never said it would be easy. But I've won – I defeated him – and I know my purpose now. Nobody said my path would be an easy one …_

She waited for the elevator to take her to the E.R., and as she did, she swiped angrily at the tears were stinging at her eyes for no reason at all.

* * *

Stay tuned, for the conclusion of "In a Glass, Darkly" – coming soon, as **Chapter 7, Part 2**

In the meantime – you read? Please review!

* * *

**Edited** **again**, 28 August 2013, **to add**:

After more discussion with reader **toshers-girl**, I've decided to take out the entire passage mentioned below. I'm leaving it up so you can see I'm not trying to hide that fact that I did write it. Needless to say, I am sorry for that same writing. **Toshers-girl **outlines the massive problems with the passage, and gives an idea of what's at stake in the whole matter, more eloquently in this thread; I'll paraphrase, and say: that eliding Western traditional ideas of the devil with Voudon is a lazy shorthand that capitalizes on deliberate misunderstanding of an underprivileged religion, and people have done the same over history in order to justify disenfranchising or abusing the practitioners.

So that. Is. Out! And now the scene reflects "Requiem for a Dream." Any questions or comments? Please feel free to get in touch.

Thanks, Subtilior

* * *

**Edited**, 8 August 2013, **to add**:

A reader brought to my attention something I wrote that is pretty damn offensive: lumping together the practice of Voudon with Satan worship. It is not so, and I sincerely apologize to anyone I've hurt or triggered through that writing.

I've edited the passage to call the Benedict character what he is; I am not sure whether it jars, for Sarah's narrative tone (going from sleep-deprived, slightly inappropriate glee, to weariness with Ben's usual style) ... let me know if it flows.

Here is how the original read:

"Oh. That's O.K., I guess –" Then, remembering, she interrupted Ben as he was opening his mouth to speak again. "Wait – I was going to ask you - what did you see? What did he remind you of? What freaked you out to such a great extent," she raised an eyebrow, "Father?"

Ben flushed. "I said you wouldn't believe me."

"Sure I will."

"It might take a while."

"I've got time. Come on. Walk me to the elevator, why don't you?"

"Well." He fell into a walk beside her, and cleared his throat. "You know – it was just one of those silly things that you do when you're young …"

"I knew you when you were young. Remember? You never did anything silly."

"Fine, then. To make a very long and very stupid story short – I went on a mission trip to New Orleans, in seminary, and I –" he swallowed – "I took this one guy up on a dare, and I went to a voodoo ceremony –"

Her sympathy abruptly began to evaporate. "Am I going to appreciate where this is going? As the only one of us who took comparative religion?"

"Just let me tell the story. I was at this voodoo thing, and they had given me something weird to drink, so I was feeling sick already. Then they started chanting, and after a really long time I thought they threw blood into the fire, or something – and – and –" he spoke in a rush – "I don't know if that drink made me see things, or what, I thought they all screamed together, and then I had this horrible hallucination of the Devil coming to take me to Hell -"

_The Devil! The Prince of Darkness! _Sarah fought to control her temper. "Public service announcement: none of their gods is Satan."

" - lots of fire and screaming, and the big kahuna himself, coming out of the flames and _grinning _at me – I swear, it gave me nightmares for years."

"Get therapy."

"Consider my point of view. I was just an innocent little seminarian – and they were so impressed by my rolling around on the ground and foaming at the mouth that they wanted me to come train as a voodoo dancer, or whatever the heck it is they call their priests –"

"Right, I'm done."

"What'd I do? I'm just trying to tell you -"

Sarah picked up her pace. "I give you courtesy, right - even though you believe a woman conceived a child without any form of sex - but you can't give it to other people. Some days, Ben -"

He exhaled in a gust. "Right. So I went back to seminary, and dreamed bad dreams for a few years, but then my last-year roommate told my confessor about what I kept saying in my sleep – and _he _dragged it out of me and gave me merry hell for screwing around with … what did he say … 'powers of evil' –"

"Christ, should I just keep 'for the bigots' as a scrip?"

" - and he gave me _another _mission trip as penance – but in Alaska instead of New Orleans. Six months, freezing my penitent ass off in the cold and snow."

"They got medieval on your ass. So that's all you thought you saw, with my – acquaintance?" _not going to say 'friend', because he wasn't my friend – my lover, though – and if I keep thinking along those lines I'm going to get in so much trouble if I don't pay attention to anything but –_

– the memory of Jareth, tracing his fingers across her hips in patterns that caught at her skin with tiny flashes of heat – feathering kisses over her breasts and sighing – _heart's desire – heart's desire –_

"I knew you wouldn't believe me."

"It's not a question of belief. It sounds like you, after all." She lifted a shoulder. "There are just only so many days I can handle your kindest bigotry, and Father? This is not one of them."

"Thanks a lot, _Doctor_ –" Ben grimaced. "To answer your question – it was the way that guy stood – or walked – or _something _- that just made me remember –" He ground to a halt.

"Remember what?"

"Huh." He looked confused. "I _don't _remember." Ben turned to look at Sarah fully. "I don't remember what he looked like."

"Who? Your Satan? Or the other guy?"

"The other guy."

"Of course you don't." They had reached the elevator.

"So tell me I'm not crazy, Doctor."

"You're normal." _A normal tourist_. She pressed the button for the elevator. "You were just using tropes, archetypes – images familiar to you, from your studies and from your beliefs – to create a projection suitable for thoughts and feelings that were truly, deeply troubling you at the time."

Ben looked white. Sarah sighed - and, despite everything, decided to lighten the mood.

"Or you were just on drugs. Didn't your mom ever tell you not to take anything from strangers?"

"My mom was an exemplary one - no food, no drink, no candy, _nothing _from a stranger. And for the other: Hi! I'm Benedict Romani - Jesuit, pediatrician wannabe, rock star, all-around nice guy ... _priest_, remember?" He spread his hands. "No drugs allowed."

"But you, Father, _don't _remember – and that in itself indicates that a veritable cornucopia of substances could have been percolating in your system –"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

The elevator doors opened. Sarah stepped inside. "Anything else? I've got a lot to do."

Ben put his hands in his pockets, and then spoke, hurriedly. "So – how about that guy?"

Sarah inclined her head as the doors slid shut.

"Long gone."


	8. Chapter 7, part 2

**

* * *

**People - I lied. This is actually part two, of the **_three_**-part Chapter 7. 

**In a Glass, Darkly**

**Chapter 7, Part 2**

* * *

Days passed, one after the other. Before a week had gone by, Lyn came home with her husband, and Sarah planned a dinner for her.

_Not Joe, though – reconciliation only goes so far. _Her eyes had narrowed as she dropped the invitation in the mail. _And I don't even know how far **she **__will go …_

But Lyn proved a polite guest, if not as cheerful as Sarah remembered her. When the conversation dragged, they had Ben to fall back on – Ben, with a never-ending supply of anecdotes, and an increasingly strained expression as he provided joke after joke.

Sarah got up to clear the dishes, and Ben grabbed the salt and pepper shakers, the butter dish, the gravy boat, and, somehow, the water jug, before catching up to her by the sink.

He deposited his two handfuls on the counter with a clatter. "Could you warm it up in there?"

She rolled her eyes, irritably, at his whisper.

"Seriously, Sarah – come _on _–" Ben's voice was growing louder. "She's trying to mend fences – but if you don't try to meet her halfway, nothing's going to get better, you know –" He heaved a sigh. "And I'm sick of doing stand-up!"

"_Christ_ –" Sarah snapped; she didn't see her friend flinch. She closed the dishwasher with a thud. "Fine. Get over to the couch and chat – I'll put the coffee on, and I'll be there in a sec."

When the coffee maker was gurgling and steaming away, Sarah wiped her hands on a towel and turned to look over the bar counter, over the dining table, to the couch – she saw Ben gesturing extravagantly and Lyn smiling, though in a wan way –

– her mouth went dry –

_The couch _– that was where she had stripped off Jareth's jacket, and his shirt, and had raised her hips and had torn at the waistband of his remaining clothes until she had found him, and moved her body to take him into her – and he had snarled and grasped her upper arms as she had rocked downward –

"Sarah?"

She started. "Just a minute – I'm wiping down the counter –" She heard her own voice – it was hoarse – as hoarse as it had been after

– their mouths had collided, and with a _click _of teeth she had suddenly tasted blood – but it had such a strange taste, and boiling hot, so it must have been _his_ – and she had jerked backwards to stare at his face as he wove his fingers into her hair – a strange ichor on his lips, iridescent in the lamplight – and he had shifted within her, and moved until she gasped and moaned and coiled herself tighter around his perfect body –

"Sarah?"

She blinked awake, her heart pounding. Looking down, she realized that she was holding the towel clenched between her white-knuckled hands.

"Yeah –" she replied; her throat was parched. She swallowed, and tried again. "Coming."

_Oh, shut **up **_– She cursed at the voice cackling inside her head, and retrieved a tin full of cookies from a cabinet before walking to the couch. Sarah sank into the chair and held out the tin to them. Lyn and Ben each took a cookie, with murmured thanks.

"So!" She pasted a smile onto her face. "Let's see the Aruba pictures."

Lyn produced a photograph album, and Sarah leaned forward, resting her arms on her knees, to make the appropriate noises.

She nodded, and _oohed_ and _aahed_ with Ben – until she found herself blinking at the couch, dazedly, remembering how their bodies had twisted together, and how they had caught each other's rhythm – how he had said – _princess – Sarah – ah, don't stop, you beautiful – you – **ah **__– you make me – you make me want to – _and he had dug his fingers into her back, and kissed her wildly, and thrust within her so deep that she thought she would burst into flames from the heat of him –

"Sarah?!"

She jerked where she sat. "Um –"

"Come on, Sarah," Ben frowned at her behind Lyn's back. "What's up?"

Sarah smiled weakly. "Just jealous – I mean, _I _wish I could head off to the Caribbean in the middle of March – oh, and the coffee –"

She bustled to her feet, and then looked down – her mind gave a little jolt – directly into Lyn's eyes … for the first time –

_The first time in a long time_.

Lyn blinked up at her – those eyes, beneath their red lashes, ordinarily a clear gray, looked opaque and tired. Sarah caught her breath … she could almost _feel_ the thoughts swimming behind those eyes – _I've missed you – I need you – I wanted to say so for so long but now it's too late until you say something __unless you say something __please say something –_

Narrowing her focus on Lyn, Sarah smiled, and spoke. "Do you want some coffee?"

A hesitant smile appeared on the other's face. "Sure."

Sarah tipped her head, wonder stealing through her mind – she could almost feel her – _former friend's? _– her friend's love, and trust, settling carefully on her hand like a tiny bird –

She could not say to herself, later, what exactly prompted her to throw the bird to the ground.

"Great." She grinned down at Lyn. "Could you remind me how you take it? I seem to have forgotten."

Lyn's thoughts slipped away; her eyes slammed shut – _are those tears? _–

When she spoke, her voice was wooden. "Cream and two sugars."

"Coming right up!" Sarah sang. She turned her back on Lyn's face, and on Ben's look of surprised reproach, and strode back to her kitchen.

She heard an unfamiliar internal laugh – snide and smug – but only had to listen for a moment before realizing that it was her own.

* * *

That night, Sarah dreamed.

– there was the Labyrinth, gleaming in the sun, its intricate coils and turns glittering like an tiled pattern on a marble floor –

_it's further than you think – and time is short –_

"Goodness. Did I really sound like that?"

Sarah started, and turned around where she stood – to see one image of Jareth, fading away with a clock over his shoulder – and another one, large as life and dressed in full Goblin King regalia – so proud – so _beautiful _…

"Jareth …"

"Yes?" He shook out his cape, and smiled at her.

"You're in my dream …"

His smile broadened. "Or in your memory." He caught her hand, and brought it to his lips. "You invited me. Lead on!"

Sarah grinned back at him, and then

– she took a step down, and another, down down tumbling down the hill and she had sand in her shoes –

_come on, feet –_

"How _adorable_ …"

"You never know when to stop, do you?" Sarah flashed him a knowing look. "Now I've got sand in my shoes, and I think that's a rock – _ouch –_"

"So take them off." Jareth's voice was strangely giddy. His grip on her hand tightened.

It made sense. Sarah shrugged, and kicked off her shoes, and wiggled her toes in the sand. It felt heavenly.

"What next?"

"You know what happens next." Sarah felt her breath coming faster.

"Ah –" Jareth's eyes kindled.

– there was the gate to the Labyrinth, ancient and dour – vines coiling around it, and one of the vines rippled and _changed _and reached out to her, and wrapped around her arm –

_hello – I like you – you feel like spring – you smell like the sun –_

"You do, you know."

Sarah blinked, from where she was looking at the snake, and turned back to stare at Jareth, who had both his arms crossed over his chest.

"I do what?"

"Feel like spring. Smell like the sun." Jareth smiled, slowly, and paced towards her. "It is like nothing I have ever experienced."

"No …" she murmured. "You have experienced it …" And she felt the snake slither up her arm, and rest at her neck, as she reached out to take Jareth's hands. "Come closer."

"As my lady desires." His eyes glittered; his teeth looked sharp in the bright light.

"Yes …" Sarah could hardly breathe between words. "I desire you. I _want _you. I could have you love me in every dream for the rest of my life and it would not be _enough _–"

Jareth placed one hand over her mouth. "Shh …"

And then he replaced his hand with his lips, and he was kissing her silkily, darkly, his mouth sliding over hers and his tongue darting over her teeth and flicking at her own until the sparks of lust in her body kindled and roared into a flame –

He drew back, and smirked at her sound of protest. "What next, Sarah?"

"The gates turned into a mirror." And they were – shining and rippling into silver, at Jareth's back.

"I see." Jareth tipped his head, considering – and then grinned, and lifted her, wrapping her around his body. He turned, leaned forward, pinning her between himself and the mirror –

She swallowed her giddy anticipation, and looked into his eyes, hungrily.

Jareth spoke, in a low voice: "Well?"

Her breath came even faster. "What are you waiting for?"

He pursed his lips. "Don't you want to see your reflection?"

"No –" Sarah pressed her body against his. "No – I want –"

Her mouth went dry at the look on his face. Jareth bent forward, and whispered into her ear. "What do you want, Sarah? _Princess _… _tell _me what you want …"

She gasped against his lips as they moved from her ear to her mouth. "I want you to _fuck_ me – right here – right now –"

He kissed her, and murmured: "Take what you want – _take _what you want, Sarah …"

Sarah closed her eyes and let her hands rove over him and directed his hands on her –_you feel like spring – you smell like the sun – _until they were both naked, and his mouth was at her neck, and at her breasts – _you taste like the beauty of a rose in bloom, and the ripest fruit from the tree in the middle of the garden – _and they were moving together on the mirror – in the mirror – in the glass –

_– __my beautiful dream weaver –_

Jareth's eyes were so close to hers –

– _my jewel – my Sarah – **heart's desire **__–_

She moaned, and woke up, panting – reluctant to leave the heart-pounding golden rose heart of her dream –

_A dream_.

Sarah opened her eyes, and stared at the ceiling of her bedroom.

_He was in my dream …_

"You've _got _to be more careful –" she said to herself, fiercely, as she shook out the sheets from where they had twisted around her legs, and tried to ignore the racing of her heart.

Sarah pushed back her tangled hair from her face. She yawned, and rubbed her eyes, and looked around the room –

There, on the vanity – was nothing.

She bit her lip, remembering the way the crystal had glimmered, and the soft ornament of the feather lying next to it …

Sarah turned on her bedside light with a _click_. It chased the night shadows back into the corners of her room; back beneath her bed – and in its warm, golden glow, she smiled a wry smile at her vanity laid bare.

* * *

Work, over the next week, and the next, was perfectly normal.

Sarah strolled through her days, with a smile for her consults, and with carefully judged diagnoses for patients new and old. She accepted the thanks of Mrs. Johnston's husband when the old woman was deemed acceptable for the normal dementia unit – "no longer a danger to herself and others" – she kept abreast of Aaron Cohen's medication changes via fax, and she guarded her other patients with the fire of new determination.

She walked up to the NICU after a particularly long Thursday – only to find Ben, his posture tense, talking to a harassed-looking woman who held two young children by the hand, and balanced a baby in a sling across her stomach.

"Ma'am, unfortunately, I cannot disclose details of a patient's treatment to anyone not cleared by the release of information –"

"Patient?" The woman snapped. "_Patient? _This isn't some run-of-the-mill broken leg, or appendicitis case – this is a baby – a _dying _baby, and you're telling me that I can't even ask about his medication without my sister's permission?"

Ben heaved a sigh. "Yes, ma'am. That's exactly what I'm telling you. Ms. Duvall has not authorized you on the release. You'll have to take it up with her."

"That sister of mine – I ask you –" the woman huffed, her doughy face tightening. Sarah walked up to them, and touched her gently on the shoulder.

"Hello – my name is Dr. Williams, and I've been consulting on your sister's case for quite some time now –"

"My sister's case – it's the _child_ we should be concerned about, not her!" The woman's eyes began to water. Sarah looked at her, sympathetically – a detached part of her noticed that those eyes were really very beautiful – wide, dark, and fringed with darker lashes –

She focused her own voice to cut through the older woman's increasingly loud words. "I am concerned for both of them – Ms. – Mrs. –"

"Leah." A sharp nod. "I'm Rachel's older sister –" she grimaced – "and I'm the responsible one."

_Not responsible enough to find some decent birth control_ –

Sarah batted away the snide, uncharitable inner voice, and kept her tones soothing, holding the woman's eyes with hers. "If you could perhaps contact your sister, ma'am, and urge her to follow up with us again – I am greatly concerned for her welfare, and for that of her child …"

Her words were having some effect. Leah blinked, calming down, and tried to smile. "I'll do that." She nodded, more decisive. "Yes – I'll call her. I'll call her right now –" she freed one hand from a child's grasp, and pulled a battered cell phone from her pocket.

"Ah – ma'am, I have to tell you that cell calls aren't allowed in this unit." Sarah smiled, gently. "There's a waiting room outside, if you wish to make a call there."

"Oh." Leah looked at the phone. "Well, I have an optometrist appointment to get to, so I'll call on the way." She looked at Sarah. "Thank you – doctor – doctor –"

"Dr. Williams." Sarah raised her eyebrows, and reached in her pocket for the last two lollipops that she had – she had recently decided to carry treats with her for patients who could be bribed into better behavior. She held the lollipops out to the two children clinging to their mother's legs. "Here you go, guys – that is –" she glanced up at the woman – "if they can have candy at this time of day."

Leah visibly softened, her eyes beaming. "Yes." She shook her children by the hand, bending down, careful to avoid jostling the baby curled against her breast. "What do you say to Dr. Williams, boys?"

They spoke separately. "Thank you" – "Fank oo." Sarah grinned as she saw how one of the boys was missing two front teeth.

"We'll be going, then." Leah headed for the door – and Ben gave Sarah an admiring look.

"Way to go, Doctor." He clapped his hand to his forehead, and let it fall as he smiled.

Sarah drummed her fingers on his clerical collar. "Let's hear it for yours truly!" She spun in a half circle. "I rock!"

"I guess so." Ben's smile slipped away, and he yawned. "I thought she would have my guts for garters –"

"You were fine," she said, dismissively. "All I did was get to her through her kids."

"Evil genius."

"You know it."

Ben rubbed his eyes – but then let his hands fall, as his eyebrows shot up – "And she left just in time, too – because look who's here."

Sarah turned to look. And she felt rage shoot up in her, like a firework, as she saw Rachel Duvall walking down the unit towards them. _I've been punished__ enough_, she had said – _Well, **I **__disagree __– what kind of mother abandons a premature baby _– Sarah thought, fiercely. Rachel's long hair fell in beautiful waves and her clothes were finely pressed. She held a boy's hand in hers – a well-fed, dark-haired child dressed in a brightly and elaborately colored sweater that looked hand-knit – and she looked at them both with a nervous expression, as she drew closer.

Half of Sarah was surprised at her own anger. The other half watched Rachel Duvall approach, and kept a narrow gaze on her as she talked to Ben, as she bent to her son and urged him closer to the incubator –

"Say hi to your little brother, Joey –"

And Sarah felt something within her press her forward, to take Rachel by the elbow, and say to her, softly –

"Ms. Duvall – I'm so glad to see you here. I have to say that I've been concerned for you."

The young woman stared back at her, her eyes wide beneath their makeup. "I don't need no more psychiatric help, Doctor –"

"No?" Sarah gave a tight smile. "Even when you decide to leave your sick child alone for almost three weeks?"

Rachel embarked on a rambling excuse. Sarah did not listen; instead, she watched the pink lips move, and looked deep within the muddy brown eyes –

– her eyes –

Looking back at her, from behind those eyes, were flashes of fearful thought – jostling for space – _oh no I didn't mean to leave him oh no but I was so tired and so afraid – I couldn't sleep – I needed to sleep – I **need **__to sleep – I didn't mean to leave him __I didn't mean to give him up __I didn't mean it I didn't mean it –_

Narrowing her focus on Rachel, Sarah smiled again, and spoke. "Will you be returning to see your child any time soon?"

A hesitant look crept across the other's face. "I have to say ... that I'm not sure."

Sarah tipped her head, a strange glee stealing through her mind – she could almost feel Rachel Duvall's fear, and guilt, settling carefully on her hand like a little butterfly –

She carefully cupped her fingers around its fragile wings, and placed it, safe, deep within her pocket.

Then Sarah nodded, and acquiesced, and watch Rachel walk away as fast as she could, dragging her son with her.

"Weird." Ben's voice was confused, and tired. "I don't know what to do about her."

"Hm." Sarah smiled a secret smile – feeling the butterfly flit inside her hand, her hand inside her pocket, the pocket inside her mind. "I think I do."

* * *

That night, Sarah dreamed.

– there was the Labyrinth, gleaming in the sun, its intricate coils and turns glittering like an tiled pattern on a marble floor –

_it's further than you think – and time is short –_

"Goodness. Did I really sound like that?"

Sarah started, and turned around where she stood – to see one image of Jareth, fading away with a clock over his shoulder – and another one, large as life and dressed in full Goblin King regalia – so proud – so _beautiful _…

Her heart thudded wildly. "Jareth …"

"Yes?" He shook out his cape, and smiled at her.

"You're in my dream …"

His smile broadened. "Or in your memory." He caught her hand, and brought it to his lips. "You invited me. Lead on!"

Sarah grabbed his other hand, and pulled him to her, and kissed him hard – she took a step down, and another, and then they were falling down down tumbling down the hill together and she had sand in her shoes –

_come on, feet –_

Jareth laughed. "You're not in a position to run anywhere, are you?" He nuzzled her neck, and scraped his teeth over her skin; she shivered at the feeling of his weight pressing her into the sand before the gates of the Labyrinth –

"Jareth …" she murmured. "I've got sand in my shoes, and I think that's a rock – _ouch –_"

"So take them off." Jareth's voice was strangely giddy. His grip on her tightened, and his eyes flared. "Take everything off."

It made sense. Sarah grinned, and kicked off her shoes, and unbuttoned her shirt so he could slip it off her body, along with her jeans – she rubbed her bare back against the sand. It felt heavenly.

"What next?" His breath was hot against her ear.

"What next?" Sarah arched her body against him; he hissed. "I'm naked as the day I was born and he's pinned me to the ground, and he asks 'what next'… Well …" and she drew out the words as she traced his ear with her tongue, listening to the quickening rasp of his breathing. "I'll give you _what next_, Jareth –"

"Princess –" he whispered, and

– there was the gate to the Labyrinth, ancient and dour – vines coiling around it, and one of the vines rippled and _changed _and reached out to her –

Jareth swatted it away.

"I don't think so –" he ground out. "She's mine. _Mine_. She feels like spring – she smells like the sun –" he buried his face in her neck and inhaled –

"Kiss me –" she ordered, and he did, and she lost track of time, and she barely saw the gates turning into a mirror, shining, and rippling into silver, for Jareth was holding her legs around his hips as he eased his way into her and whispered above her, and through her, and into her mind – _you taste like the beauty of a rose in bloom, and the ripest fruit from the tree in the middle of the garden –_

– _heart's desire –_

"_Yes_, Jareth – don't stop, just tell me –"

_– I will set you upon the moon – I will give you a crown of stars – heart's desire – heart's desire –_

She gasped against his mouth as he bit her lower lip – Sarah felt the back of her head hit the sand with a _thump_ as she stared up at Jareth, trying to speak – trying for words – when all she could do was _feel _–

She cried out, and squeezed her eyes shut – the light was far too bright –

When she opened her eyes again, Jareth was lying at her side, holding her hands in one of his, and letting her head rest on his other arm. He saw her stir, and smiled.

"Haven't you forgotten something?"

"What?" Her head pounded. "What have I forgotten?"

Jareth raised his chin, and indicated the mirror with one arched eyebrow.

Sarah stood up, unsteadily, and walked over the hot sand to look into the giant silver mirror that was the gate to the Labyrinth –

"Oh, for the love of – _Jareth_!"

"Yes?" He sounded amused.

"Throw me my clothes!"

Laughing, he did so. Sarah quickly buttoned her shirt, and wrestled with her jeans until they slid over her legs –

– she reached into her pocket, and felt something tickle – and there –

A smile spread across her face. She drew the tickle out of her pocket. There was the butterfly – _Rachel Duvall's butterfly_ – holding tight to her finger and carefully fanning out its wings.

"Look, Jareth –"

"Ah." His voice sounded in her ear; startled, she looked at the mirror again, and he was there at her side. _It isn't fair –_ she was almost tempted to sigh – he was back in the garb of the Goblin King, looking cool, and immaculate – looking as though he had done nothing close to rolling around in the sand of the Labyrinth for the last half hour –

Jareth gazed at the butterfly, his look assessing. Then he glanced up at her. "Do you know what to do?"

Sarah thought. "I think so."

"Well, my dear …" His voice was honey sweet. "Do you _want _to do this?"

A chill ran down her spine; she shivered in pleasure. "I think I do …"

Jareth spread his hands wide. "Then, please – don't let me stop you."

Sarah smiled down at the butterfly, and carefully pinched one wing between her thumb and forefinger –

– and, just as carefully, she yanked the wing off –

She heard a woman cry out – Sarah's eyes flew back to the mirror, her heart pounding, and she saw Rachel Duvall kneeling before her, weeping in fear and pain – and she could hear her – _no – no – please please **please **not again _–

Jareth moved his hands to her shoulders, and laid a hot, slick open-mouthed kiss on her neck. "My dream weaver …"

She closed her eyes and let her mouth fall open at the sensation of his lips on her skin; she pulled another wing off and heard Rachel scream –

– and Sarah gasped, and woke up.

_A dream_. _It was just a dream …_

Sarah drew the sheets up to her neck, and stared at the ceiling of her bedroom, trembling as she did so.

_He was in my dream …__ and Rachel Duvall – **she **__was in my dream …_

She swallowed. It had only been a dream. Nothing would come of it – would it?

She stared at the ceiling for a long time, without turning on the light. And she only fell asleep again after reciting her patients' birthdays, diagnoses, and medications, three times each.

* * *

The next morning, work was normal.

Sarah went on her rounds, warily. Nothing extraordinary happened – the same words, the same smiles, the same stale sandwiches in the cafeteria figured largely in the tedium of her day. Finally, towards its close, she made her way to the NICU and swiped her I.D., and donned a pair of sterile gloves, and saw –

– Ben, standing by the main desk, his hands white-knuckled on its edge, talking urgently to the secretary.

Sarah walked toward him. "Hey, Father." She watched him, nervously, for a reaction.

He hardly looked at her. "Hey, Doctor – thank God you're here – listen." Then he turned to her, and grasped her elbow in one hand, ushering her away from the desk. "Sarah – go and call Brown, or Michaels, or someone who can get me a priority one referral double-quick – because –"

She could hardly speak. "Because what?"

Ben hissed between his teeth. "_Look _at her!"

Sarah looked. And she felt her skin crawl, as she saw Rachel, hanging over the incubator, crooning tonelessly and picking at the scabbed slashes on her forearms.

_Go to sleep you little baby_  
_Go to sleep you little baby_  
_Come and lay your bones on the alabaster stones_  
_And be my ever lovin' baby._

Sarah jerked a nod at Ben, and ran for the door – not daring to stay still, to listen for any laugh, or to watch for any smile in her own mind.

* * *

The next week progressed as the others had.

After Friday's shock, Sarah had written herself a prescription for a low-grade sleeping pill, and had faithfully taken it – and had not remembered her dreams. Rachel Duvall had been sent to Briarwood; Sarah winced at the thought of her there, but consoled herself by the knowledge that she had done the right thing –

She carefully avoided thinking of – _those_ _dreams …_

Ben grew increasingly haggard as the week went on – Sarah had flipped her calendar over to April, and had realized that he had to oversee a church service every day that week until Easter Sunday. She sent him a fruit basket. He sent her a thank-you note. She heard from the NICU staff that the baby was failing, even as she heard from the rest home that Mrs. Johnston was "doing just fine, sweetheart – and such things she knits, too – you wouldn't believe 'em –"

The weather grew cold, for early April, and wet – and such were the doldrums in the department that Dr. Michaels conspired with the secretaries and ordered in a slew of pizza on Thursday, to raise morale.

It was after she had finished her rounds that Sarah let herself relax with her colleagues, joking and teasing Nurse Joe about the amount of pizza he could put away.

She was laughing at a particularly inane pun when she almost _felt _silence spread through the room, starting at the door.

Glancing over her shoulder, Sarah almost choked on her bite of pizza when she saw Aaron standing at the threshold to the room.

His eyes were fixed on her.

Someone gave a nervous laugh, but silence fell again almost immediately. Then Nurse Joe lumbered over to the boy, and knelt before him with surprising ease. "Hey, man. What's up? What are you doing here?" He looked over at the cardboard boxes. "Want some pizza?"

Aaron appeared to give the question careful thought. Then – "No …" he mumbled.

"O.K. – that's cool, that's cool. How have you been?"

The boy thought again. Stepping closer to him, swallowing her last bite of pizza, Sarah could almost see the gears in his brain grinding away – his eyes were dull, and his face was blank.

"O.K. I'm getting better – I promise."

"Good – good." Nurse Joe threw an anxious look over the boy's shoulder. Footsteps were approaching. "Oh hey – here's Dr. Brown." His voice rang out, cheerful.

"Come on, Aaron." Dr. Brown spoke softly. "Let's go say hi to Miss Lola." Catching their eyes, she murmured in an undertone. "Social worker – he's interviewing for foster care today and tomorrow."

Aaron moved stiffly. He walked away – only darting one surprisingly intent glance over his shoulder at Sarah, as he did.

Sarah let out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding. _What did you expect? _Not a miracle cure, no – rather, this gradual improvement was a good sign … a good sign …

The residents and nurses were all rather hushed. To break the mood, Sarah smiled at them, grabbed the last stick of garlic bread, and dipped it in the sauce.

"Hey!" Nurse Joe protested. "I called it!"

"Too late." She grinned. "And I'm not sure if I'd share with God himself."

"Not funny," Nurse Joe groused as she bit down onto the bread and smirked at his frown.

* * *

Friday dawned even uglier than Thursday – black with clouds, soaked with rain, and punctuated by the occasional rumble of thunder. Sarah broke with her usual habit of walking to work and took the bus, cursing when her umbrella refused to fold up as she boarded.

A short drive, and a short walk up the pavement to the hospital – but then a long day, and an even longer wait outside the NICU while the cardiologists consulted on Benjamin Duvall – _she finally gave him a name_, Ben had said, sadly, late on Thursday night.

At five, though, the cardiologist on call had left, shaking his head, and Sarah was allowed into the unit – only to find her friend staring down into the incubator.

Sarah kept her voice low, even though the distant clatter of rain on the roof echoed down through the ceiling. "Father …" She touched his sleeve, gently. "Why are you taking it so hard?"

"Dunno." Ben's voice was low, and rough. "Maybe it's because I'll never have kids – maybe I just like this little guy – we share a name."

"That's right …" She bit her lip. "His mom finally named him. You told me, just yesterday."

Ben continued as though she had not spoken. "Not quite, though. He's Benjamin. I'm Benedict. So it goes."

Sarah said nothing – just looked at her friend, worriedly.

In one sudden movement, he propped his elbows on the incubator, and shoved both hands into his curly dark hair. "Sarah …" He raised his eyes to her, and his mouth twisted. "Tell me, _Doctor_ – what sort of God does this to a child?"

_Uh-oh_. Biting the inside of her cheek, she held his gaze, and tried to speak gently. "That's your department, not mine."

He looked at her for a long moment; then he blinked, his shoulders sagged, and he looked away. "I knew I should have paid more attention in Previl."

Sarah frowned, confused. "Previl?"

Ben rubbed at his eyes with both hands. "Short for 'The Problem of Evil.' Rhymes with "weevil." My friends and I at seminary – I guess we thought it was funny –"

"Ben –" Sarah laid her hand on his shoulder. "You're exhausted. You need a nap – hell –" he glanced at her – "sorry – _heck_ – you need a good night's sleep. Go call your supervisor, and he'll put somebody on for you …"

"I can't." He looked at her, his eyes tired. "I have to sing the service for Good Friday tonight - and I promised Rachel that I'd stay up through the night with the baby –"

"Rachel?" She felt a sliver of dislike worm its way into her voice. "She's one to talk, about staying with a baby –"

"Sarah, that's _unkind_ – the last thing she asked me to do, besides baptizing the kid and naming him Benjamin, was to make sure he wouldn't _die alone_. And to give him these." Ben gestured with one hand – a pair of tiny, crocheted baby socks fell to the floor. He bent to pick them up, and stumbled when he straightened. "Surely I can do that for her, however horrible a monster she is?" His voice turned acidic. "May I, _doctor_? Or would you diagnose me with an acute excess of sentimentality?"

"I wouldn't –" Sarah fumbled for words. "Ben – you're _really _tired – you need to get some sleep –"

"I need to sing the service for Good Friday." His voice was unyielding.

"O.K. But after that, will you promise me you'll take a nap?"

He tipped his head. "Will you stay with the baby, for a little while?"

Sarah paused.

"Will you? Just one hour? Even one hour would help me out."

"I'll see," she hedged. "I have some consults."

Ben looked at her, evenly. Then he shrugged. "If you can't find an hour, you can't find an hour."

He turned, and began to walk away.

Sarah stared after him, dumbfounded – "Hey! Hey – Father –" She moistened her lips, and took a deeper breath. "Father – _Ben _– I'll do it – wait –"

The door to the NICU swished shut.

Sarah looked around, and then looked down at the floor, fighting a sudden surge of tears. _Wait –_

She saw a small, yellow baby sock.

Ben had gotten the one, but missed the other. _I'll do it_ – Sarah resolved. She tucked the sock inside her coat pocket. She would return it to Ben at the Good Friday service in the chapel – and then she would stay up the whole night, for her friend, and for the child.

* * *

Her resolve gave her the energy to run down the stairs, to the chapel, later that evening. Sarah could hear Ben's pure voice, chanting, even from down the hallway; she walked as quickly as she could, without making too much noise – but yelped despite herself, when she raised her eyes at the threshold and saw –

"Hi, Aaron."

The boy was leaning against the carved wood of the open door. He kept his face turned away from her.

"Do you like the music?"

A pause. Then Aaron shrugged one shoulder.

"That guy," Sarah pointed. "There – see that guy? His name's Ben. He's my friend. He can come talk to you whenever you want, if you have any more bad dreams -"

"I don't." The boy's voice was flat.

Sarah felt caught. "Don't what?"

His shoulders hunched. "Have bad dreams."

"Oh." She tried to keep her voice bright. "Well, that's good, isn't it? So if you ever need a friend, then, you can call Ben, or call me –"

"You're not my friend."

His voice was flat, and cold.

"Oh, Aaron ..." Sarah sighed. "That's O.K. – but if you need a friend, you can definitely call Ben."

"I have lots of friends. I don't need him."

Sarah blinked. "Lots of friends?"

A nod.

"Can you tell me about them?"

Aaron turned toward her. He had grown in the past month – he seemed almost less of a child, teetering on the edge of a growth spurt – he looked more solid than pudgy, now – his face like a block, his eyes sullen chips of stone.

"My friends are a secret."

_Here we go again_. Sarah bit her lip. "Well, that's O.K. too. I know I can't be your friend –" _she will **lie **__she'll never say that she can see me she will never admit it because if she did they'd think she was **crazy **as __as you __–_Sarah batted away the voice from inside her mind, gritting her teeth.

She looked down into the boy's dull face, and felt remorse twist her stomach. She glanced into the chapel at Ben. _Sarah, that's **unkind **_– The memory cut at her – _I can be kind _… _I have time to be kind. The service won't be over for another half hour_. "Can I buy you something from the café? Some soda, or some ice cream?"

Aaron stared up at her. She could not read his expression.

For a moment, his eyes turned distant, and he tipped his head – then he darted another look up at her. "O.K."

Sarah shivered; she could not say why. Then she tugged her coat closer to herself. "Great – let's go."

She took his clammy hand in hers, and they walked away from the chapel.

Ben's voice floated after her - a white dove - a golden thread -

_Sóbrii estóte, et vigiláte: quia adversárius vester diábolus tamquam leo rúgiens círcuit, quærens quem dévoret –_

* * *

Sarah bought ice cream for Aaron, and iced tea and salad for herself. She walked briskly with their dishes to a wrought-iron table, beneath the gorgeous, sparkling glass dome of the atrium, Aaron tagging along behind her. "O.K., kiddo –" she flopped into a chair, and pushed out another for Aaron, with her foot. "Sit down, and eat up. I'll buy you all the ice cream you want." She crunched on her salad with an exaggerated smack; a tiny smile flitted across the boy's face.

Rain drummed on the glass. Sarah looked up at the pitch-black, roiling sky. A faint flash of lightning lit the edge of the dome; she jumped in her seat and raised her eyebrows at Aaron. "Pretty cool, huh?"

Aaron craned his neck. "Yeah …"

They sat quietly for a few minutes; Aaron toying with his ice cream, Sarah working her way through her salad.

"Can I ask a question?" The boy's voice was low.

She chewed, and swallowed. "Sure – go ahead."

Aaron spooned up some of the melted ice cream in his spoon, and let it plop back down into the bowl. Then he let the spoon balance on the remaining scoop, tipping at it with his fingers so that it hit the ceramic with a _clink_. Sarah gave him time to himself.

When he spoke, his voice was quieter than it had ever been, in her hearing.

"Was it real?"

Sarah took a deep breath. "Was _what _real, honey?"

He peered up at her. "The Labyrinth," he whispered. "The Goblin King."

_Oh, damn it all to hell. **Shit**__. What do I do now? _

"Aaron …" she began. Then she put down her knife, and her fork, and laid her hand over his. "Aaron – can you promise me something?"

His brow furrowed. "Yeah."

Sarah muttered to herself, and to him. "I should have made you promise this a long time ago – then they wouldn't have put you – _damn _it – O.K. Listen. You have to promise –" she gripped his hand. "Aaron – you have to promise me that you won't tell _anyone_ what we talk about. Understand?" She widened her eyes, willing him to meet them. "The Labyrinth – the Goblin King – this will be our secret. All right?"

Aaron's face was pale, his eyes round. "All right."

Sarah shook his hand. "Good. Done, and done." She picked up her fork, and speared another leaf of lettuce.

The boy waited. Then he mumbled, again: "Was it real?"

She let her fork fall, with a _clank_. "You promise?"

"Yes!" The child was near tears. "Yes – I promise!"

"Fine." Sarah stared at his bowed head. "It was real. It was _all _real. The Goblin King has the power to make dreams –" _look what I'm offering you _– "to make dreams, and to trick people into his Labyrinth, and into thinking that he's a nice guy."

"He's not a nice guy?"

"No." She shook her head, emphatically. "He is _not_. Really –" Sarah looked at the boy, feeling exasperated despite herself. "Don't you remember what he did to you?"

"I thought – they told me that wasn't real …" Aaron's voice slurred as he scrubbed at his face with his hands.

"Well, it was." She spoke shortly, then grasped the fork and worked on finishing her salad, her conscience pricked by the child's tears.

"But he told me a nice story, when you visited with him –"

Sarah could hardly hear around the crunching of a crouton.

" – and then he –"

"What?" She swallowed her mouthful.

Aaron's eyes flickered. "Nothing."

Sarah focused on fishing out the last tomato wedge from beneath the remaining leaves of lettuce, giving the boy time to finish his sniffles.

When Aaron spoke again, his voice was clogged with tears; she hardly understood him.

"Why does the King talk to me?"

She took a long sip of iced tea; it was sweet, but, thankfully, not too sweet. "Why did he talk to you? Well, Aaron …" Sarah looked into her glass. "It's hard to say – but I think the Goblin King represents a choice you have to make. A decision." She smiled at the boy, trying to keep her voice kind. "Even though he's not nice at all, he shows us what is important to us. He helps us decide what to do with our lives ... What we really want – and what will really make us happy."

"What will really make us happy?" Aaron repeated.

"Yep." Sarah twisted the last bits of lettuce around her fork; then paused, and offered Aaron the bite.

"No, thank you," the boy said.

She looked – vinaigrette was dripping off a leaf onto the glass of the table. "Well, that was polite of you, kiddo. Major brownie points." Smiling, Sarah put the fork back down into the salad bowl.

"So." Aaron's forehead creased; Sarah controlled another twinge of exasperation, and tipped her head, listening to him. "The Goblin King helps us to decide our decisions."

"To make decisions, yes."

"An' we have to figure out what we really want."

"Mm-hm."

"An' he helps us do that."

Sarah took another drink of tea. "I think so – this is a bit of guesswork, you understand." She tried a small smile at the boy. "I don't know of anyone else alive who has seen the Goblin King –" her mind flashed to Rachel Duvall, and she shivered – "well, hardly anyone …"

Lost in thought, she did not see Aaron's expression change.

But then he spoke once more –

And his voice was strangely cold.

"I didn't know anyone who knew the Goblin King either."

Sarah swirled her tea in its glass.

"Until I met you."

He stared into his bowl of melted ice cream, his face taut.

"It was true. It was all _true_ – and I wasn't crazy. I was _never _crazy. It all happened to me, and they tell me that it didn't, and they give me pills, and they say I'm bad and a _liar _for telling the _truth_."

The flow of words was unsettling, from his lips, when Sarah had been used to hearing him use only monosyllables –

She leaned closer to him. "Honey …"

"No!"

Aaron banged the spoon against the dish; Sarah jumped, startled.

"I'm _not _your _honey_!"

His voice was thick, and his brow knotted with anger, from where she could see it – she sat, frozen in place –

"I'm not your _honey_! I'm not your _friend_! You _lied _to them – you knew I wasn't crazy, and you lied and let them take me away – _you're _the liar. _You're _the bad one! You're bad, and you lie, and I **hate **you!"

A boom of thunder sounded.

Sarah took an unsteady breath. "Aaron –" Her voice was feeble.

The boy looked up, and met her eyes –

– and she gasped, as a veil over his own eyes seemed to be torn in two – and she saw behind it hatred and rage as thick and dark and boiling as the clouds overhead –

Lightning flashed.

"I **hate** you –"

The words were a choked gargle in his throat – he wheezed for breath, and then coughed, hacking, and glared up at her again.

"I **_hate _**you!!"

Sarah caught a whiff of ozone in the air, and felt every hair on her body stand on end –

Then Aaron spoke, and voice was crystal clear.

"And I wish the goblins would come and take you away –"

The glass dropped from her hand to shatter on the floor.

_– no –_

"Right. Now."

Lightning flashed down the metal struts of the dome with a hideous cracking _tearing_ sound – the people in the atrium screamed in fear and began to run – and, with a noise that broke the ear, every single glass pane shattered –

"**_AARON!_**" Sarah screamed at the top of her lungs and caught the boy in a tackle, rolling with him across the floor and shielding him with her body as the glass and metal and lamps and live wires came thundering down from the sky upon all gathered beneath them –

Sarah could hear nothing above the roar of concrete and glass being crushed into powder, and the screech of metal being pulled apart –

– but only then did she realize that the screeching was laughter – wild, screaming laughter –

She felt a splitting pain smash her legs, and she threw back her head, instinctively, only to see – _oh God no **no** – _**Jareth** – shrieking out of the sky like a falling star blazing through a vortex of black clouds and glass and metal and lightning –

– the white wings of his owl cloak unfurled wide as he unsheathed his white hands like talons while plunging down, down _down _through the rain of glass –

– and the only thing Sarah heard over the thunder of the sky falling and the howl of the darkness closing in was Jareth's hideous, appalling laugh of triumph as he seized her.

* * *

Yeah. So. -coughs-

To be concluded, very soon, in: **In a Glass, Darkly - chapter 7, part 3**

You read? Please review!


	9. Chapter 7, part 3

**In a Glass, Darkly**

**Chapter 7, Part 3**

* * *

She remained huddled on the ground, in a heap, even after she realized that the sky had ceased falling. That the screaming had stopped. That –

– and Sarah gasped –

That Aaron had disappeared.

She shot to her feet. Broken glass cascaded from her hair; dust puffed out from her clothing. She recognized the dirty stone – the heaps of rags – the splintery benches – even the occasional chicken feather –

Sarah stiffened. She could feel someone staring at her – a gaze resting on her neck and back with an almost tangible weight.

_You know very well who it is –_

She turned. And she saw Jareth.

"Oh, _no_ …"

"Oh, yes." He was poised on the edge of the familiar, ancient seat carved from stone, drinking in the sight of her with flaming eyes, and gripping the armrests of the throne with his hands. "Welcome, Sarah."

She took a step backwards, legs shaking, and almost fell over the stair leading up from the depression in the middle of the throne room – she scrambled up it as fast as she could, and then spun in place, wildly, looking for Aaron.

"Where is he?"

Jareth raised both eyebrows. "I beg your pardon?"

"Aaron Cohen!" she spat. "Where – the _hell _– is he?!"

A nonchalant shrug. The Goblin King sat back, and rolled a crystal – _oh __**God**__, that crystal _– from one hand to the other. His lips began to curve up, as he looked across the throne room at her, his eyes –

Sarah stared at him. He looked exactly as she remembered him best – from so long ago – from her time in the Labyrinth – though a combination of how he had appeared at different times then … his dark, heavy cloak; his gaudy, almost foppish clothing; his extravagant hair – his thin, mobile face split by a smile; his eyes glittering at her, with a combination of magic and lust – _wait _–

That _look _– the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. She remembered that look. She remembered it from each one of the three nights they had been – her mind stumbled and she almost tripped – _together _– on each of those nights he had gazed at her in desire – and in her _dreams _he had looked at her thus … as though she were something that he could consume – something he could swallow whole…

She slowly moved further away from him – one step, then another, then another -

"Really, Sarah." His voice, low and oily, slipped across the room. "I find it quite ironic that you are so _suddenly _concerned for young Aaron's welfare – although your final act in your earthly life was, I admit, quite gallant." Jareth snapped the gloved fingers of one hand– the crystal vanished. The smile had left his face; he stared at her, his eyes shadowed. "But before, Sarah – _before_ – you were quite content to let him recover from his horrible trauma far, _far _away from your blessed presence … weren't you?"

Sarah took refuge in anger, to prevent fear from freezing her in place.

"He isn't my only patient, you son of a –"

"Shhh –"

She choked, horrified, as Jareth raised one finger to his lips.

"Shh, shh, shh … ah. That's much better." His voice lilted. "Hush, little Sarah, don't say a word …"

Sarah tried to speak, but could not. It was awful – her tongue seemed to have turned to stone in her mouth – her throat had dried up –

"I have had quite enough of your imprecations, my dear. And I made _sure _to warn you. 'Look to your vassals, Sarah.' Such a pity that you sent the most important of them all so _very_ far away. He was _lonely_, you understand – and he had enjoyed my story so very much, that I thought it would be worthwhile to pay him another visit, and offer him another bargain …"

Jareth's eyes lingered on hers; she could not tear her gaze from him.

"Behold –" He gestured, suddenly; she started. "The moral of your story, Sarah mine." His voice hardened. "If you will play the crusader, you must take special care to watch over your vassals – all those under your power … lest they find a power of their own, and seek to punish you… for injuries either imaginary, or all too real."

Her breath hissed between her teeth as she tried to choke out a protest – a curse –

"Hm. I should say – all those who _were_ under your power." The voice was still icy, but now Jareth's eyes gleamed. "Because playtime is over, precious … Story hour has come and gone ..."

He sat up straight on the curved throne, and smiled slowly at her.

"Won't you walk closer?"

Sarah's feet twitched.

She gasped, and looked down; then stared back up at Jareth and grabbed onto a small statue, set into the stone wall – willing herself not to move –

"If you are not amenable to suggestion, you force my hand, love." Jareth's voice was quiet.

"Walk closer. _Now_."

Sarah would have screamed, were it not for the strange buzz of power in her throat and mouth. She took a deep breath, and tried to shout again – and managed a choked growl as her feet mechanically took her across the dirty floor to the foot of the dais.

"My, my, my ..." His eyebrows shot to his hairline as he slumped back in the throne, considering her. "What a will you have, that you can stand your ground in such a way. I was not mistaken in you …" Jareth smiled, his eyes hooded. "You have a very great talent, Sarah – a force of will which, when wed to your considerable imagination, makes you a power to be reckoned with … truly …"

Then he paused, and his eyes narrowed to slits. "But I can hardly reckon with you from such a distance, can I?"

Another grin – shark-like. "Come to me, Sarah." He shifted, slightly, and patted his knee. "Come, sit with me here –"

Sarah felt a great sweep of anger rush up into her face, leaving it crimson and stinging, at being summoned to sit like a child – like a _pet _–

She clenched her teeth together as her legs moved, and took her up the steps and arranged her on Jareth's lap like an automaton. He paused for a long moment, watching her furious face with obvious enjoyment. Then he laughed, harshly, catching hold of her and drawing her closer.

"Now, now – won't you relax?" She kept herself stiff, but then he whispered, "_– relax –"_ and then Sarah gasped as her body draped itself over his chest and legs, as if strings holding it taut had been cut. Horror and fury mingled in her stomach to fight the sudden arousal that surged through her as he buried his face in the curve of her neck –

"Yes …" Jareth's voice was muffled against her skin and her hair. "Playtime is over – but now the _real_ fun begins, doesn't it?" He brought up one gloved hand to glide over her jaw, pressing his mouth to her throat. She felt each of his words as a hot gust against her flesh. "How does it feel, Sarah? … How does it feel to have _no _power – to be weak, to be helpless – to be at the mercy of another?"

_Mercy_ – the word dripped from his mouth like blood from a chunk of raw meat. Sarah felt her gorge rise as he traced his lips up and down her neck, slowly, inhaling her scent as he did –

"_Especially _after I gave you such a precious gift, to add to your own power. 'Be watchful – be vigilant –' How did it feel, to have the thoughts of others fly to your hand? How does it feel, to know that you will _never_ use that power again, until I order you to do so? How does it _feel_, Sarah?" Jareth hissed against her skin. "_Princess _–"

With an enormous effort, she hissed back at him, through her gritted teeth. "_Bastard _–"

Jareth pulled his head back, sharply, and stared. "Such a force of will. My … Well, I'd hate to put you through further discomfort, so –" he held her immobile at her waist, twining his legs around hers – "Won't you speak to me, my love?" He batted his eyelashes. "I would so much like to hear how it feels to be powerless – from your _own _lips … so … speak."

The grip of power evaporated from her mouth and tongue, with the feeling of sandpaper scraping metal – Sarah gasped in another breath and _snarled_. "You _monster _–"

He nodded. "Yes. I thought I made that quite clear, in the alleyway."

"You have no power over me, you rat _bastard _son of a –"

"Now there you are wrong ..." He moved his hands from around her waist, mocking her with his fingers inching up, little by little, sneaking beneath her white jacket – and then her shirt – Sarah registered the slide of leather on her bare skin and bared her teeth at him in defiance –

"Wrong …" he crooned. "Wrong, wrong _wrong_." Jareth traced over her ribcage, then gave her a slow, heated smile as he moved to her bra. She bit her lip and looked away from him. "You see, Sarah, once somebody has spoken the words and has witnessed their consequences, he – or she – never forgets them. Such it was for you, with – what was it? Ah, yes – _you have no power over me_." His hands slid to her back; he felt for the bra's clasp. "You never forgot that phrase, and you quite delighted in throwing it in my face, day in, day out – _damn _–"

Sarah felt a bubble of hysteria float up through her throat, as his fingers fumbled the clasp. "Too much for you, your _Majesty_?"

Jareth gave her a long, measuring look – there was something lurking in the depths of his eyes, so close to hers – something cold and cruel – _horrible_ – whatever it was made her shudder –

"Hardly." He had flicked his gaze from hers; the hold was broken. She felt him tug at his gloves, one hand to the other – then they were off, and falling down her back in a tumble, and his bare hands unhooked the clasp smoothly. "As I was saying, you remembered the one phrase – but you seemed to have forgotten the invocation that gets so many foolish people into so much trouble in the first place …"

Sarah tried to focus on his words, but his touch brought other memories to the front of her mind – his fingers, burning hot, retracing their path from her back to her breasts – he flipped the scrap of cloth up beneath her shirt, though it still hung from her shoulders, and caressed her, slowly –

"Yes …" Jareth hissed – his breath was hot. "_I wish the Goblins would come and take you away _– _**right now **_– ring any bells?"

Someone was moaning. Sarah blinked away a haze that had fallen across her vision, and realized that that someone was herself. Cursing inwardly, she fought against the insistent press of memory, and of his hands – _his hands feel so – _

"Fairy stories." Her voice was ragged. "Fairy tales and dreams – that's all you have to work with, Goblin King – tricking children and people who never grow the _fuck_ up_ – ah_ –"

He had palmed one breast and flicked his thumbnail against the nipple. "Such language …" Jareth teased her, tracing his thumb in circles – then he _pinched _her and Sarah yelped – and then felt her face flame as she caught him smirking at her. "Fairy tales are enough for some, Sarah. Tales, images, archetypes … those universal constants that lurk beneath the bed and in the mind … and even those stories have their nicer points. For example: I am personally fond of the kiss that awakens the beautiful princess …"

Sarah's heart shot up into her throat. She was no longer aware of his hands at her breasts, although he did not halt his caresses – she stared at him – at his eyes, hooded and focused on her lips.

"Sarah … Won't you kiss me?"

She swallowed. "No."

Jareth flicked his gaze up to meet hers. "Then allow me to rephrase that." He smiled, viciously. "Kiss me."

"You _bastard _– I don't want t –" Her words cut off as her mouth moved of its own accord to meet his – and –

_God _– it was everything she remembered – everything that it had been over those three nights – and her memory gave her not only the kiss but all that followed as well: sunset to sunrise of skin on skin, lips parting, tongue against teeth, and limbs twisting together until her heart was beating so fast that she thought it would burst within her body –

Jareth gripped her tightly, and kissed down the line of her jaw. "Sarah –" his voice was hoarse. "Princess – I will give you your dreams – _all _of your dreams – for now you are mine – _mine _– and nothing can take you away from me –"

"Jareth –" she choked. He murmured something indistinct against her ear as he swept his palms over her upper body, tugging at her clothes from the inside.

"Jareth – please, wait –"

He drew his head back to stare at her – his eyes were wide, the pupils dilated so that they matched. "Wait for what?" he rasped.

"My dreams …" Sarah whispered. "Shall I show you my dreams?"

A smile tugged at his mouth. "I know all of them, my dear, but –" and he took in a deep breath, and exhaled – "what is it that you wish to show me?"

"This." Sarah felt every square inch of her skin shiver in anticipation –

– and then she drew back her lips from her teeth, and spat in his face.

He roared in fury, and threw her back by her waist, hard – she landed at an awkward angle on the floor and cried out as her back wrenched beneath her body weight. A torrent of power crackled through the air – lights and sounds whirling around her as she heard him stride from the throne, every footstep echoing –

"You _dare_?" His voice rebounded off the grimy walls of the throne room. "You dare show such insolence to your _master_, you –"

Sarah propped herself up on her elbows, then sat up straight with an effort, glaring at him. "Master – I don't _think _so! You _tricked _me – you tricked Aaron! He's a child, Jareth – just an innocent _child _and if you put him through the Labyrinth again, I'll never forgive you –"

Jareth glared back at her, his eyes burning with rage, his dark cloak unfurling around him in the wind that blew through the room. "I _am _your master now, Sarah. All of your power is _mine_, to use as I see fit. Whether or not I show you mercy depends on your behavior – and – come to think of it –"

He stooped down by the throne and grabbed his gloves; with one, he wiped his face clean – and then he slapped the two together in one hand with a _crack_ of leather. "I could order you to do anything, at this moment, and you would do it. I could order you to jump out a window, or gnaw off your own right hand – I could order you to hold your breath until you suffocated." His face darkened, with his voice. "I could order you to strip, to crawl over here on your hands and knees and _beg_ to suck me off – do you understand me?"

Sarah recoiled in horror; she scrambled away from him, through the dust and filth of the throne room. Her white coat was dirty; she didn't care –

"Sarah …" Jareth fixed her with his eyes as he paced towards her. Then he went still, his stark face twisted into a rictus of beautiful cruelty. "Lovely Sarah. I could tie you down and take you here by _force _– here –" he tapped one boot – "on the floor, in front of all the assembled creatures of the Labyrinth – and none would lift a _finger_ to help you …"

Her mouth felt coated in sand. "But Aaron – in the Labyrinth –"

"_Especially_ Aaron." There was nothing warm, or human, about his smile. "And you think he is in the Labyrinth, Sarah?" Jareth tilted his head to one side, and gathered his cloak around himself. "Think again."

He watched her, narrowly, and then _gestured –_

The first thing she heard was sobbing. The next thing she heard was a familiar voice.

"Please … _please_ … I'm afraid …"

And then Sarah saw Aaron materialize before the throne, shaking where he stood, and hiding his face behind his pudgy hands.

Jareth's smile became remote, as his eyes flicked from her to the boy – and as he turned away to face her former patient –

"Wait …" Sarah gasped. "Wait – Aaron –"

Both of the others ignored her – Jareth, regal and proud; Aaron, shivering in fear.

"Well!" The familiar, jaunty tones of the Goblin King hit her ears. "Well, my fine fellow – what can I do for you?"

_What can I do for you –_

_Oh, no. Oh my __**God**__, no – please let it not be –_

Aaron whimpered. "You promised me –"

"Ah." Jareth smiled. "What did I promise you?"

The cries redoubled. "My sister … my sister …"

Glancing towards Sarah, and smirking, Jareth flicked one of his bare hands in the air, and pulled a sparkling crystal out of nothingness, to glimmer and glow before the boy's face –

"I have a gift for you, young man."

"No –" Sarah hissed. "Jareth, you son of a _bitch _– don't do this to him again –"

"Sarah." His voice was cold, and it fell like a weight into the room. "Do not presume to tell me what to do. _Ever_. Do you understand me?"

He held her eyes, his own commanding and pitiless – and she saw – _oh my God what is it _– the air in the room shiver, _changing _– and Jareth himself rippled, strangely –

_What – _

Had she hit her head? Sarah stared, feeling numb. She had an impression of the boundaries of her vision bubbling – the lineaments of the throne, of the air, of the stone, of _reality _changing before her eyes –

She saw a seethe of reptilian coils, and scales – _is that a snake _–

"Jareth –"

Sarah could hardly force his name out from between her chattering teeth.

He said nothing, merely looked at her.

"What's going on?"

A slight shrug. "This is neither the time, nor the place, for questions."

"No –" Her limbs felt heavy – and her head – she couldn't keep her head up – and then she felt a queasy rippling in her flesh as Jareth's image seemed to _change_ –

"What _are _you, Jareth? What are you – really?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I am who I am –" He smiled. "I am myself."

Sarah stared at him. "Let me see you."

Jareth's smile turns cold. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"You're not going to like it."

"I don't care."

He paused, considering – and inclined his head.

"So be it."

Jareth smiled at her again, merciless, remote – and then he turned his back on Aaron, and on her, and strode back up the stairs to seat himself upon the throne.

"Then we shall see face to face."

His eyes rested on hers, and then he held out his arms with a sudden rustle and _flap _of his cloak –

– a black cloak –

– a white cloak –

– or were they white wings –

The room groaned. Light bent, stone and dirt melted away. Colors melted to black, black became white, and white burned with such a horrible intensity that Sarah cried out, and covered her face with her hands –

And when she opened her eyes, and let her hands fall away, reality as she knew it was no more.

* * *

She could not see where the room ended. Sarah looked up, staring, at the walls of the throne room stretching into a bleak, burning white sky. But no – there was the ceiling – she set the boundary of the room there and looked for the opposite wall – but the walls had receded into the distance and she could no longer see where they sliced across the infinity of white –

A child was crying.

Sarah heard its cry, felt the sobs clutch at her heart. She turned her head, slowly, to try and find the child – _there –_

_Aaron _–

But where Aaron was, surely there would also be –

She turned her head to her right, and saw him.

Jareth was shining with a light somehow even brighter than the whiteness of the room – beautiful and terrible to behold. Bright silver loops of power coiled around him, and he had – _wings__? Wings? Or a cloak_? – Sarah could not look near his face for long – She averted her eyes, her mind scrabbling for some way to understand what she saw, and she focused on his hands – and there – her thoughts stumbled – he was stroking a silver snake, a snake that wove itself around his elegant wrists and through his long, pale fingers –

And then her mind stopped as he spoke –

"Aaron. Light bringer ..."

– Sarah felt her very _being _recoil – she squeezed her eyes shut - there was something so _wrong_ about his voice, something deeply unreal – as though the abyss had looked back at her and had spoken in an echo millennia old –

"_M__y _light bringer. Aaron Cohen – son of high priests and kin of kings ... You have rendered me a great service."

The young boy was trembling where he stood.

"Aaron. Do not fear. You shall have whatever you desire ..." His voice dropped to a grating whisper. "For you brought me something I coveted."

The child's voice quavered.

"Whatever I want?"

"Yes."

The hiss echoed through the room, rebounding off the walls and growing louder and louder – "yes yes yes _yes__ YES __**YES**_–"

"Please." Sarah heard a sob. "I want my mom and dad. Mom – I want my mommy ..." He began to cry harder.

"Ah. Honor your father and your mother, that you may live a long life in the land which is given to you ..." The terrible voice set the words slithering up, down, and around – Sarah choked back a swell of sickness. "Yes. An admirable request, my light bringer."

"Please – _please _– I'm afraid – my sister – please give me my _sister –_"

"You need not fear, dear child." Sarah heard a rustle; despite herself, she opened her eyes to see –

– Jareth, standing, and looking at a white light in the palm of his hand.

Sarah squinted against the pounding in her head. Was it the same crystal?

– and then she recognized the shape of the light. It was an apple.

A beautiful, iridescent apple – shimmering and rippling with the colors of the rainbow –

"Aaron. Light bringer." Jareth held out the apple to the boy. "Eat this, and nothing will ever hurt again. Your parents shall be yours. Your sister shall be yours. Anything and everything you desire shall be yours. Take it –" his voice roughened. "Take, and eat."

The words were _wrong_, from his lips_ –_ it felt as though her mind were being flayed –

But she gathered her strength, and choked out: "Don't – Aaron – don't do it –"

Jareth did not even spare her a glance. He watched the boy, his eyes hooded. Aaron had stepped forward, trembling, his eyes round and filled with fear – but then he reached out a pudgy hand, and took the apple.

"Oh, God, _no _–" Sarah cried.

Jareth whipped his face towards her – his molten silver glare sliced through her mind like a knife through butter.

"Sarah ..."

She felt his whisper creep across her thoughts. It left blisters in its wake.

"That name is forbidden here. That name has _no _place, no _power _here and it is _forbidden _to you – do you understand?"

_Yes –_ Sarah felt her tongue cleave to the roof of her mouth as she tried to speak past the pain – _yes I understand I know who you are I know __**what **__you are _–

The shining walls pulsed as Aaron took a deep breath; they flared in triumph along with Jareth's eyes when the boy bit into the apple; they flattened into a contented shimmer as Aaron took one step, then two, and then pitched to one side and fell, heavily – fell into death? into sleep? – Sarah could not see past the glowing light of Jareth's countenance as he strode from his throne to look down at the boy, as he shone like the sun, like a star –

And then he turned to look at her.

His face was the same, but _different_ – pale yet fiery, beautiful beyond compare – its lines and planes and the curve of his lips just as they had always been – but an image from beneath the beauty seared itself onto her mind's eye, like a bright light leaving a multicolored outline on her retinas – an afterimage of hideous, blackened corruption – seething, festering, and _grinning _at her, horribly, its sharp teeth bared and dripping with rot –

Sarah tried to say something. Her mouth was too dry.

Jareth inclined his head towards her. "Speak, mortal. We will hear you."

Fear slid its parched fingers from her mouth to her throat, choking her.

"Hm." She saw the skin around Jareth's eyes – _that __**strange**__ silver _– crinkle as he smiled. "That is rather overly formal ... Although the beauty of high language is a blessing in itself, is it not? They way it simultaneously reveals and conceals … if those who have ears do not hear."

The glare of the walls flickered into something approaching normal light as he nudged Aaron's body out of the way with his foot.

"Well, Sarah. Now you see face to face, where before you saw in a glass, darkly ... Now perfection has come, and soon, _soon_, my dove,the imperfect will disappear ..." Jareth made a sweeping gesture with both hands; the white of his robes pulsed against her eyes like her own heartbeat. "Soon you will know fully, as you become – _fully_ known ..." A leer split the beauty of his face into two ugly halves –

Sarah shrank from him as he drew near to her.

Jareth's face smoothed out into a gorgeous mask. "What ails you, my love?

"You told me –" she croaked. "You told me –"

Jareth took his right hand from where it stroked the shimmering scales of the snake twined around his left arm – Sarah could only watch, mesmerized, as his fingers floated towards her – and then she flinched as he brushed her hair away from her face. He saw the flinch, and he drew his lips back, a slice of jagged, razor-sharp teeth flashing from the maw of his mouth –

"What did I tell you?"

Even the murmur of his voice scalded her mind.

Sarah heard her own voice, high-pitched, disbelieving.

"You told me you weren't Satan."

Jareth's eyes flickered. He reached out with his other hand – the snake undulated up his arm and uncoiled over his shoulders. He touched Sarah's face with his long fingers – she gasped as she felt her cheekbones, her jaw, her forehead go _numb_ with some strange current – or power –

He smiled, gently.

"And you believed me."

Sarah felt her consciousness begin to step away, first slowly, and then running, backing up as fast as it could.

"Your friend, now – Benedict Romani, that admirable young man – he almost gave me away …"

Jareth framed her face with his hands; she thought she would scream, if she could breathe –

"Benedict – his namesake such a worthy foe, so long ago – that boy, that friend of yours … he _saw_ me, Sarah! He saw me in the flames, and _he knew me for who I was_ – and when he realized what was at stake, he fought with me from sunset to sunrise and finally called on the name of his precious _savior _–" Jareth spat – "to cast me _out_. I suspect that if he sees me again, it will be a reckoning for him." His smile was horrible. "You had a champion, Sarah – a defender ready to hand – one to whom you could have joined your own force to blast and defeat me, leaving me utterly cast down … But ..."

… and his voice dropped into a whisper, slithering over her face, scorching it – "But – what if you had told him something of what _you _had seen – what if he had not shied from your contempt by obscuring the truth of his vision with his pathetic little _jokes _– what he had told you that he recognized me? … if indeed he had made the leap from the mists of his dreaming to the stark reality of day? … His fight with me was as real as your defeat of my Labyrinth, dear heart – and just as difficult to describe to others without sounding _insane_ … So – even if he had told you that he knew me as the Great Deceiver … well … somehow I doubt his _medieval _notions would have held any sway _at all _with you, my dear ..." His face bent closer; he ran his tongue over his jagged teeth as he gloated. "Is it not so?"

_Ben _– she thought, despairingly. _I should have known. I should have told you – you could have helped me – I should have known –_

Jareth's fingers stroked her face, and twined their way into her hair. If she were any closer, Sarah thought to herself – if she were any closer, she would be burning up – incinerated –

But she was far away. If she squinted, from a distance, she could imagine herself in a tiny boat, tossed on the surface of the sea – a sea that grew choppy as she shivered, the water darkening with her fear –

"What – leaving so soon?" Jareth breathed. "I think not."

The water began to boil and steam. She could see a shining figure on a far-off shore –

"I have not finished with you here, Sarah."

And she felt an unseen force drag her back from her retreat and slam her back into her body, fully conscious – and every single one of her bones and each drop of her blood screamed in agony as he pulled her against him and kissed her on her mouth.

If his voice had been a dagger, then his kiss was a flood of molten metal burning through her, leaving slag behind – Sarah gasped for air and shrieked even louder, in her mind –

Through a gray haze, she saw Jareth draw back, and consider her, his silver gaze flat.

The excruciating white-hot fire crackled around her eyes, inside her skull, and melted them –

Sarah screamed, and woke up –

* * *

She was on the floor of the Goblin King's throne room. It was quiet. Sarah propped herself up on her elbows, and saw – next to her – Aaron, lying as motionless as a corpse, and just as pale –

Gasping, half-crying, she crawled to him and felt for his pulse. _There_ – just there – faint, flickering, but still present – he was still alive.

Sarah sat up. And regretted the motion instantly, as her head seemed to split in two with pain.

"You can't say I didn't warn you."

The voice was soft, and drawling. Sarah peered in the direction it had come from – she saw Jareth, half-hidden in a window recess, watching her.

He bared his teeth at her. "Peek-a-boo."

Fear gripped her stomach; she scuttled away, across the flagstones, much as she had before – _but that was before I knew_ –

Her back hit a step, and she could move no further. She could only watch, her heart racing, her mind screaming at her to run, run, _run _– as Jareth unfolded himself from the recess, and stretched.

"Come now, stop that quivering. That's the whole point of this fairy-tale get-up, you realize." Jareth walked up to her; she saw one of his boots tapping the floor impatiently. "The Goblin King is an avatar. An archetype. A convenient mask. A way of dealing with humans without the regretful side effect of reducing them to mindless wrecks or greasy cinders." He took her hands and pulled her to her feet. "Although mindless wrecks can eventually prove satisfying. And they _do_ burn quite spectacularly. Remind me to give you the full tour, one of these days."

Before she could register his movement, he had tipped his head, gracefully, and bestowed a kiss upon her cheek.

Her stomach practically rebelled. Sarah yanked her hands away from his and wrapped them around her arms, shivering.

His eyebrows rose. "Cold? Then here –" He swept the dark, ornate cape from his shoulders in one smooth motion, and slung it around her own. "This will keep you warm."

It _was _warm. And the leather had a strange, alluring scent to it – dark, with undertones of some subtle tang, or some electrical charge that made the hair on the back of her neck prickle ... and made her remember –

– Jareth, easing her legs apart with his long fingers and making her thrill with pleasure – kissing her on the mouth and murmuring – _heart's desire – heart's desire –_

"Heart's desire." She spoke dully.

"Ah – she speaks!" Jareth flashed a smile at her as he bent to pick up Aaron in his arms. "But why so forlorn, precious thing?"

"All this time – _all _this time, you've lied to me. Was it –" Her tongue felt thick, in her mouth. "Was any of it true? What you said that last night?"

"What – 'you are my heart's desire'?" Jareth tucked Aaron's limbs within his grasp. "Well, I certainly desire you ... but whether or not I have a heart has been a matter of considerable theological debate for quite some time. I'd be happy to summarize it for you, when we have the chance." He stood at the door, his head tilted, considering her. "Will you follow, Sarah?"

She closed her eyes, trying to focus around the echoes of his voice, and the prickling of tears beneath her eyelids. _Follow – or be forced to follow _–

Jareth tsked. "Follow me." He spun on his heel, and walked away, with Aaron in his arms. "You will forgive me, for being in a hurry, won't you?" he called back over his shoulder.

Feeling his power tugging at her legs and feet, Sarah followed.

* * *

She lost track of the twists and turns of the castle – for it _was _the castle … she recognized the stairs that led to the Escher room, and she caught a glimpse of tiny forms scuttling into corners, squeaking and running away from the tread of Jareth's boots. Sarah held the cloak tightly closed, trying to take comfort from its warmth, and, most of all, trying to think around the fact that sat like an iceberg in the middle of her mind –

_How is this possible – how is this possible – but no, it's possible – so how can you get away – how can you bargain – __**what **__can you bargain –_

She could think of any number of things she could bargain. But the time to bargain had been before Aaron had opened his mouth, before he had met her in the first place … before he had even been born …

Sarah gasped as they walked through a marble archway into a vast room, open to the sky – midnight blue studded with stars – and crammed full of marble slabs. They spread out in a glowing geometric pattern beneath the starlight – far into the distance, further than the eye could see.

On each of the slabs rested a man, or a woman, or a child.

_Resting _… Sarah drifted through the mass of humanity, taking in the washed-out, immobile forms on their biers. Resting truly described them. None was bound, but none moved. Dark roots and vines twisted up from the earth in between the slabs, coiling around the pale marble, but not touching a single soul …

The room had the air of one massive, ancient graveyard, silent under the stars.

She kept walking, and listened to the soft taps of her practical hospital shoes on the ground, the quiet rustle of the Goblin King's cloak sweeping around her. Jareth's own steps were sharper, louder. She let her eyes fall on his back, on the sweep of pale hair moving before her. She felt that she would never be able to lose sight or sound of him – that even if she closed her eyes, she would still hear the sound of his step on the hard ground, the cold ground, the ground that held so many dreams, or nightmares, or visions of the world to come –

Sarah blinked away a sudden image of dark roots twisting, and grappling with the sleepers, like snakes writhing around corpses. _Where had that come from?_

"Come, Sarah."

Jareth's crisp voice cut through her thoughts. He had walked up a few steps to a prominent bier; he took one hand from around Aaron's body and gestured at her to join him.

She watched her feet making their careful way up the steps. Her fear was a distant clangor in her mind – controlled, and put in a corner for the time being. _It's no use …_

"There …" The Goblin King's pale face was inscrutable as he carefully – almost gently – laid Aaron down on the marble, smoothing out the boy's crumpled collar, and wrinkles in the striped shirt, and tufts of lank hair, as he did so. His hands – _where did his gloves go? _– gleamed the same deathly white as Aaron's skin.

With a quiet sound of satisfaction, Jareth drew his hands away, and flourished his fingers in mid-air.

The edges of the slab undulated, strangely, and something began to crystallize on them –

Sarah blinked. It _was _crystal – or glass ... It rapidly grew on itself, and leaped up to meet other iridescent strands from the opposite side, until Aaron's face became dimmed – obscured by the panes and facets that resembled nothing as much as a near-transparent, finely wrought coffin.

Mutely, she laid a hand on the glass, and tapped. _Wake up_. _I'm sorry_. _Please wake up_ –

"No," Jareth murmured, and Sarah realized that she had whispered the last words aloud. "It will not be so, Sarah – for I have granted his wish, and he will sleep here … and in his dreams, he will have the family that he so longs for, and the love that was never granted to him in his short span."

"You won't hurt him –"

Jareth cut her off, his flared nostrils the only sign of emotion on his face. "I gave him my word, and I keep it – just as I keep my word to you. All these, Sarah –" he gestured widely – "all these are my dreamers, who sleep here until the ending of the world, when all that is made will be unmade … They sleep, and they dream … but thanks to your command, I will not torment them further."

"They took their dreams?" she whispered.

He nodded.

"_All_ of them?" Sarah croaked. "Jareth – how many – how can that possibly –"

His eyes never left hers. "I have been doing this for quite some time, Sarah."

She paused. "Do I want to know how long?"

Jareth's mouth curled in a smile, a smile without any warmth at all. "No."

Sarah closed her eyes, trying to keep her breathing steady. Then, another thought flashed across her mind –

"_All _dreams, Jareth? Is there anything beyond your touch?" She heard her own bitterness. "Anyone you don't seek to destroy?"

He made an impatient gesture. "You have not listened to me! These are the ones who sought to defeat the Labyrinth, and failed. They practically throw themselves into my path – yet they represent only a fraction of humanity – only those particularly attuned to the great power that flows like a river through history, through the human mind …"

"Archetypes …" Sarah whispered.

Jareth shrugged, and turned to look down at the crystal coffin. "A crude notion, but it will serve. It _has _served. But truly – if I sought to control the dreams of the whole world, I would be spread even thinner than I am already."

He passed one hand over his mouth. "I find myself pressed for time, Sarah. _Time_. I know neither the day nor the hour – I do not know when the final conflict will come – I hang upon the notice of others, like some lackey –" he spat the words and clenched his hand into a fist – "but that does not mean that I cannot find as many dreamers as I can, and take their power for my own, lest that same last battle prove my undoing."

His voice was harsh – Sarah heard it as though it came from a great distance.

_My jewel, my Sarah … __**My dreamer **__–_

She drew in her breath at the memory. "Jareth –"

He moved his brooding gaze from Aaron to herself. "Yes?"

"Will you –" _Will you lay me down to sleep here – __**forever**__ – oh God – _"What will you –"

"What will I do with the boy?" Jareth sighed, in mock exasperation. "I told you – I will do nothing harmful. I gave you my word."

His eyes flicked down over her form, then back up to her face. "What _you _do with him, however, will be left to your discretion." A slight smile. "Though you can always count on my benevolent guidance, love."

She shivered at his expression –

– and then her mind caught up with his words.

"Wait." Her lips felt numb. "Wait – what _I _do with him?"

Jareth's smile turned secretive. He brushed past her to walk down the steps. He paused at their base, and surveyed the expanse of sleepers – _dreamers_ – she caught the flash of his keen eyes.

"I've told you – I have grown far too busy over the last few hundred years, my dear. Even as belief in certain archetypes – figures of fairy or myth – has waned, humanity's arrogance and ability to wage death and destruction has burst into full bloom. With wars, and rumors of wars, and every matter of strife practically knocking down my door and offering me tribute on a silver platter, how can I spare time for dreams?"

He tipped his head to one side, and smiled once more.

"That is why I have long been looking … for a suitable replacement."

_Replacement –_

"No …" Sarah could hardly speak.

He willfully misunderstood her. "Oh, certainly not for my own seat of power – no indeed." A laugh. "You would do well to never foment rebellion against me, precious thing. No – all I desire is a renewal of this ancient archetype – the dream keeper, the child stealer, the trickster and the singer … the lover … the cheat. Some facets you'll have to polish by yourself – I do hope you can carry a tune – and other …" his eyes darkened. "Other aspects of this role, you will practice with me ..."

Sarah stared at him, aghast. "You can't – you can't mean –"

His eyes sparked with glee. "Can't I?" He surveyed her again, hungrily. "'Come to the Labyrinth, and be my Queen' – those were my exact words, were they not?"

He paused, and his smile turned gloating – and somehow, strangely – _proud?_

"That cloak becomes you well, Sarah."

Her breath was coming faster – she felt dizzy as she looked from side to side, and fumbled with the jeweled clasp at the cloak's collar – but – _wait –_ it wasn't a clasp – it was a necklace, or a pendant –

"No." Jareth's voice was low. "I'm afraid not. Once on, that seal does not come off – unless you find someone to take up your mantle." A pause. "Which you won't, seeing as I forbid it."

Sarah flung her arms to her sides, and stared at him, her eyes tearing up with fury.

"You planned this so _well_, didn't you?" she gritted out between clenched teeth. "You let me find my purpose – protecting children, helping people, _saving_ them – and you turned it on its head, you bastard, so now I –"

"I keep my word to you, Sarah …" he whispered, his eyes flaring with an unholy light. She blinked, and caught a glimpse of a snake, and winced away from the memory of pain – "I gave you my word – and I keep it. No, _I _will not torment the sleepers … the dreamers …" He bared his teeth. "_You _will."

A pause. She could hardly breathe. Her blood rushed in her ears. The fear had fled its corner, and was crashing through her brain – tearing and screaming –

"In other words –"

Jareth gave her a courtly bow.

"Welcome to your Hell."

Her heart beat frantically – the fear pounced, and bit – and she saw Jareth shimmer in her vision, and fade from her sight as her mind took her away, took her into darkness, so she would not have to look upon his broad smile as he held out his arms to receive her.

* * *

Sarah groaned, and woke up.

"What –"

Her voice was thick and her head ached; her throat felt as though she had swallowed a glass full of sand.

Blinking, she sat up and looked around. She had been sleeping on a twin bed with a patterned quilt. She glanced behind her – there was a pretty white headboard, a rust-colored curtain topping it, and – she frowned – a blue pillow in the shape of a dinosaur, its plush body slightly squashed where her head had rested …

Sarah bit her lip as realization set in. She was in her old bedroom; just as it had been with she was young – overflowing with books, crammed with stuffed animals, knick-knacks, memories …

She slid her legs over the side of the bed, stood – _what's that rustle _– took a step – and cursed as she stubbed her toe on a dollhouse.

"Fuck – fucking _hell _–"

Looking down to her worn, dirty shoe, she gritted her teeth and shook out the pain. Her gaze traveled up. Her pants looked the worse for wear –she shifted – her bra was somehow falling around her upper arms, beneath her shirt – her white coat was absolutely _filthy _… Sarah blinked back tears that welled up, oddly enough, when she saw how the navy-blue embroidery of her title was coming unraveled over her breast pocket. _Dr Sar h Wil _– the rest was a tangle of thread.

_Pull yourself together – what's going on?_

She gripped her elbows with her hands, and then froze at the rustle – _wait a minute –_ and saw the leather falling in heavy, graceful folds to the ground.

_The cloak –_

And Sarah remembered.

Stumbling, she took a step backwards and fell onto the bed, heavily.

_This means I'm the –_

"Goblin Queen –" she whispered.

– _Goblin Queen _–

Sarah jumped where she sat. The echo had not come from inside the room – it had come from behind the closed door …

Did she dare? …

Steeling herself, Sarah got up, walked to the door, and flung it open in a burst of courage.

The hallway was not the one she remembered, from her childhood home. It was made of stone – and one torch crackled and sputtered in a wrought-iron sconce directly opposite the doorway.

She stepped slowly out of the room, the hairs on her neck prickling. She turned right, only to see a dead end. She turned left –

The hall stretched into darkness.

Sarah took the torch, ignoring the sparks that fell on her hands, and walked forward. She concentrated – one step, then another, then another – She batted away cobwebs that caught at her hair, and resolutely ignored the squeaks of – mice? Rats?

– _goblins?_

The small circle of light, illuminating her and pooling at her feet, accompanied her over dusty flagstones and crumbling mortar. She walked steadily, with her eyes on her feet, or the walls, or the floor, until she reached the first step of a winding staircase.

Blinking, Sarah turned the torch at an angle, to try and see where the stairs led. She peered, and squinted, but could hardly see into the darkness.

Carefully, she tried the first step – it held. Then she went up to the next one. Then the next one …

She ascended slowly but surely, holding onto the middle pillar with her right hand.

It was taking such a long while to climb … Sarah paused to rub at her eyes, and then frowned, and looked back over her shoulder.

A sudden rush of vertigo made her stomach lurch. The steps behind her had – _fallen away? _– disappeared, somehow, but with no sound – no crumbling of rock, no crash of masonry – nothing to indicate that no return was possible …

"Figures." Her voice rebounded off the stone, bitter and piercing.

– _Goblin Queen _–

Sarah flinched. The echo had grown louder.

She closed her eyes, opened them, and kept climbing the stairs. Then she found herself speaking aloud, her voice mechanical, brittle.

"It doesn't take a Jung, or even a Freud, to figure this one out, does it?" The echo hissed; she ignored it, and kept talking. "The lone heroine, weighed down by the cursed gifts of the enemy, but with the torch of knowledge –" she waved it through the air; the flames crackled – "leaves the tokens of childhood behind, and ascends the dark tower – said tower being a typically male space – not knowing what she will find there –"

– _you know very well what you will find there –_

Sarah stopped in mid-stride. She fell back to the previous step, gulping back a rush of –

"I _won't _be afraid," she hissed fiercely, staring at the imposing door that had appeared at the top of the stairway. Its heavy, dark wood was banded in studded iron – it looked grim. _Abandon all hope, ye who enter here – _the quotation flashed across her mind – she shook it away, and swallowed and held the torch higher, examining the spider webs looped around rusted chains – both twisted around the door's handle. The entire mass of metal looked rusted in place.

"Well." She made her voice bright. "It's locked. Too bad – I was looking forward to whatever _treat_ lies on the other side, but now I'll just have to –"

– _it will open to you_ –

"_Damn _it." Sarah squeezed her eyes shut to hold back tears. "What if I don't want to open it?"

– _too late _–

"Yes, thank you, you've made that clear." She swiped a sleeve across her face. "Damn _you_, Jareth …"

She strained to hear the echo – but only felt a strange, rippling rush of – _amusement_ – from behind the locked door.

– _how presumptuous of you –_

Sarah half-laughed, half-sobbed, and scrubbed at her eyes.

– _Goblin Queen –_

Her mouth fell open as another ripple swept through her, leaving her entire body prickling to attention –

– _come to me –_

Sarah watched one of her hands take the handle of the door – and the chains encasing it fell away, and with a flick of her thumb, she opened it –

– and her other hand dropped the torch into the stairwell behind her, its light flaming down into the darkness like the smallest of falling stars.

* * *

Sarah recognized the room at once. She let her gaze wander around it, bleakly. How could she do anything but remember it? …

There was the white dresser, the dainty armchair, and the antique rocking horse. There was the rectangular swath of carpet, leading to what had been her favorite part, as a child – the tall, elegant windows, with their long curtains … the pale material moving gently in the wind …

The windows were open. Sarah took a step forward, then another – and then walked through her parents' bedroom to see what – _who _– she knew she would find there …

Jareth sat in one of the window seats, half-hidden by a heavier, green drape. He was tracking her – his eyes glittered in the dim light shining through the glass. On seeing her gaze pause on him, he quirked a smile, and indicated the empty space at his side.

Slowly, Sarah padded across the carpet, feeling the breeze caress the cold sweat of fear on her skin. She swallowed as she reached him, and as she looked down at his face …

His shining hair was pale in the moonlight – not as wild as usual, and falling to his shoulders, neatly – _he looks like he did on the third night _– his angular features were eerily beautiful – as beautiful, and as strange, as –

She followed the tilt of his head, looked out the window, and –

– there was the Labyrinth, glowing beneath the moon, its intricate coils and turns glittering like a tiled pattern on a marble floor –

Sarah heard her own sip of breath, her own sigh, as she sat down beside Jareth, and stared out over the silent maze.

After a long, quiet moment, she swallowed hard, and spoke.

"Jareth …"

She felt his gaze settle on her face.

"Jareth – this is where –"

The Labyrinth blurred, through the mist of tears in her eyes; she blinked them back and heard him speak, softly.

"Where we first spoke, yes."

She felt him shift, next to her – Sarah looked at him, and saw his fingers, long, and bare, resting on the window frame. Jareth waited until she met his eyes, and then continued.

"I came in through this very window." His gaze was soft. "And when I saw you – when I felt your dreams reach out to me, _speaking _to me, calling to me with their power … I cannot describe to you how it felt, my dear Sarah … I had looked for you for so long …"

She felt a tear fall down her cheek, and tried to focus on something besides his mesmerizing face –

"Your gloves –" Sarah whispered. "What happened to them?"

A slight laugh. "They are not my gloves – not anymore." She could hear the smile in his voice. "They belong to you, now."

"Jareth …" And then she could not speak, as tears choked her.

"Sarah …" He sighed. "My princess – my dream weaver …" His hands came up to cradle her face – she flinched at their heat, but then gulped as his thumbs brushed over her tears. "You should not think to ask me for mercy, for you shall receive none."

She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the salty drops run down her face.

Jareth made a small noise, and then she felt the heat of his body draw closer. "Really –" his voice was coaxing. "It might not be as horrible as all that …"

"How –" she spluttered. "_How _is this not horrible – Jareth – you're the _Devil_. You're Satan, this is Hell, and I'm here for eternity –"

She opened her eyes wide as a breath of laughter puffed across her face.

"And where would you rather be, Sarah? The – _other place_?" Jareth arched an eyebrow and took her hands with his; his words were delicate, precise. "I speak from experience when I tell you that it is insurmountably dull. Nothing but singing praises, day in, day out – and a day stretches to a thousand years, truly … Yes. Horrific, indescribable tedium … what?" His voice grew somewhat nettled. "You must believe me. Would you care to be one of ordinary thousands, hundreds of thousands, chanting to someone content to watch his marionettes suffer while he basks in bliss – _what_?"

For Sarah had fixed him with a level stare. "Jareth …"

He raised both his eyebrows, haughtily. "Yes?"

"I think you're lying. To me – and to yourself."

The silence that stretched between them was as cold as it was ghastly – and as terrifying as the look that spread across his face, freezing the pale angles of ivory into ice, into stone – his grip on her hands tightened like a vise – hard and relentless –

"Be that as it may …" and his voice was low, and honey-sweet – it made her blood curdle – "Call me what you will: liar, or _bastard_, or 'you son of a bitch'" he mocked her own voice in snide tones; she bit her lip – "Whatever may come, Sarah – you would do well to remember that I am your master – that I am your _liege – _and that all I did was offer you a rope for your own hanging. _You _were the one who took it, my fine girl – and you very obligingly put your own neck into the noose." Jareth bared his teeth, and laid a finger on her forehead – she winced. "Remember that, whatever else you may forget … Goblin Queen."

"Forget?" Her voice skirled upward; she lurched from the window seat, and backed away. "No – I don't want –" She stumbled over the cloak and almost fell.

Jareth laughed. "You'll have to work on that." He rose as well, and took something from a pocket of the black suit jacket that he wore –

Sarah's stomach clenched. The suit, and that red shirt – she _knew _those clothes – she swallowed – she had torn them off him –

"Damn you," she whispered, as memory swept her back on a tide of lust to their ferocious lovemaking – _but it wasn't love _– on her couch, reflected in the glass mount of that painting – her painting – _The Last Supper _–

She covered her face with her hands. _I should have known. From the way he looked at it, that first night – from the way he reacted every single time I called on the name of God – I should have known – I should have known –_

Another laugh. "I told you, _I _do the damning around here, Sarah."

Clenching her fists at her sides, she opened her eyes, only to see her own pale reflection in her parents' mirror – there was an angry red burn on her forehead –

She saw Jareth toss something up into the air, and catch it. Too small to be a crystal, and the wrong color – and the way it fell …

Turning, Sarah recognized what he held. It was a soft baby sock, unusually small, crocheted in warm yellow yarn.

"This belongs to the honored first, Goblin Queen." Jareth grinned at her. "After all … you would not want him to – _die alone_. Would you?"

She felt her hands turn clammy. It was all she could do to shake her head. "No – no, not that one – _please _–"

"Really – any infant, especially one as frail as little Benjamin, is – how would one say it? Ah, yes – a _piece of cake_, compared to a fully grown and conscious adult." He tossed the sock onto the bed. "But the babe can wait – I must confess, I had something quite different in mind for the next little while ..."

Sarah stared at the sock. Its yellow was a bright blotch against the purple damask of the bed cover – _wait – _

His voice was traipsing on, sly and smooth. "After all, the duties of the Goblin Queen are varied, multi-faceted. It is far more difficult to weave a web of deception around adults – but that is because they require forms of _seduction_, my dear, which can only be perfected through … _extensive_ practice –"

His words did not register. "That bed ..." Sarah stared at it. She touched the heavy, dark cloth. "We met here, Jareth – but – but this wasn't there. When we met." Her skin crawled with a horrible foreboding; she swallowed hard. "This is the wrong bed."

"No." His voice is quiet. "No, Sarah. It is – most emphatically – the right bed."

Jareth walked toward her, his face darkly intent. "We met in this room, but that bed belonged to your father and your stepmother. This bed –" he spread his arms, gesturing "_this_ bed belonged to your own parents. Where they slept – where they came together in their love –" his eyes widened; his nostrils flared – "where they gave you your life ..."

He reached out, and clamped his hand around her wrist – then drew her to him, and kissed the inside of her palm, his eyes never leaving hers. His mouth burned her skin –

"You begin your new life here … _I_ will give you a new life here, my princess …"

Sarah fought desperately for words, with him so close; with the heat from his body radiating out to enfold her. "Why, Jareth?"

He tilted his head. "It began here, Sarah … You began here." He touched her face; his fingers felt like fire. "_We_ began here. This is a place of beginnings ..."

She shook her head.

"No?" Jareth looked at her. His eyes gleamed. "Then let it be of endings." He smiled. "Whichever you prefer."

* * *

Sarah closed her eyes, and tried to take her mind away, as Jareth wrapped his arms around her, and ran one hand through her hair. _Time to leave_. _Time to go_.

– _we have all the time in the world –_ his whisper felt like a razor-sharp skewer in her mind –

Her eyes flew open, and she winced at the sensation of his cheekbone slicing over the side of her face – _we're the same height – still – but somehow it feels_ –

– _how does it feel, Sarah?_

Somehow it felt as though he were taller, but that was wrong, because her lips were shriveling against the heat of his as he brushed a kiss over her mouth – and he wasn't stooping to kiss her, so he wasn't taller, that was wrong – and there was nothing else in the room – it was wrong to think that there was a large animal circling the bed, its tail flicking back and forth, rumbling a growl as the air thickened and turned darker, and darker – she pushed at his chest to gain a bit of space, and sucked in a breath through cracked lips as she looked over her shoulder into the corner by the dresser – _It's so dark –_

– _now that you mention it – I do like to see what I'm doing –_

Sarah heard no sound, felt no gesture split the air, but all of a sudden a pearly glow glimmered forth from a crystal atop her parents' dresser.

– _won't it be __**fun**__, to let there be __**light**__ – Sarah? It's a simple trick, and you're so clever, my fine girl, that you'll pick it up in no time at all –_

"No –" The word hung in the air, unnaturally loud; she realized with a jolt that neither of them had spoken since he took her in his arms – her voice sounded thick. "No, Jareth, I didn't mean that –"

His eyes glowed, like a cat's, in the dim light. She felt his desire wind around her hands like a snake _– __I want you to __**see**__ what I do to you__ –_

"No," she managed, before those same eyes flashed and he pulled her to him, his mouth hard against hers in a hot, demanding kiss – Sarah jerked backwards, instinctively; Jareth moved with her and she felt the backs of her legs press against the bed –

His long fingers unhooked the cloak's clasp and he swept the leather back from where it draped around her shoulders. Sarah felt a sudden, wild surge of hope – before she realized that all he was doing was letting the cloak fall to the floor, and that the amulet lying against her breastbone was pulsing with a strange heat, pricking her skin with its points

Jareth's hands moved to her white coat. Sorrow seized her heart at the image of him tearing it from her, crumpling it and throwing it away like trash –

"That doesn't –" she mumbled against his lips – "Leave it – that doesn't belong –"

He paused.

And then she felt her thoughts curl up into a ball, wanting nothing more than to hide, as a drop of his dark amusement trickled into her mind and became a flood that swept her away with his laughing intent –

– _I suppose it doesn't. Very well – come along –_

Sarah gasped, and

– there was the hospital, pale and washed-out from the rain, huge puddles on the pavement before it, reflecting a sky that looked like a dingy gray sheet –

"Well?"

She turned and stared at Jareth, dumbfounded. He smiled at her, his teeth glinting.

"Jareth –" Sarah breathed. "_Jareth_ – are you – will you –"

Taking one shaky step towards the hospital door, she took another, and another – but before she could break into a run, he grabbed her coat collar and yanked her back to his side.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk –" his voice was metallic, clanging, _horrible_, in the cool April air – "mustn't do that. No, Sarah – we're just here to return your coat!"

She felt her legs wobble beneath her; she thought she might faint.

His voice was gleeful in her ear. "That was what you wanted – wasn't it?"

Tears stung her eyes. "No."

"Ah." Jareth shrugged. "You might as well, though, now that we're here."

He took her hand in his, and walked towards the hospital – she followed, numb. Nobody greeted them. Nobody said a word, or met their eyes. Nobody seemed to _notice_ as he strode down the hall, dragging Sarah after him, and took one turn, and then another –

– and then Sarah saw a heap of rubble, smoking, glistening with rainwater, and ringed off by yellow tape and surrounded by men and women in uniforms and hard hats –

She heard the squawking of radios from a station near the uniforms, but also the low buzz of conversation from – she turned to look – from a wall overlooking what had been the café and atrium, heaps of flowers at its base … plastered with pictures …

Her heart feeling as though it had turned to lead, Sarah walked towards the wall. The crowd seemed to part before her as she stepped slowly, carefully –

– to see her own picture – no, more than one picture – a studio portrait that she had always hated – and then herself, with her stepparents; herself, with her study group – and notes scrawled in childish hands –

Sarah took a step backwards, missed her footing, and fell hard against Jareth.

"Tell me –" she croaked.

"Hmm?" His voice vibrated in his chest, against her back.

"Tell me this is a dream."

She felt him laugh, softly, into her hair. "In a sense. This is reality for them, and reality for you – but never the twain shall meet again, unless you are summoned to take on flesh …"

A wrench of metal and a thud made her flinch. Jareth snorted. "Shoddy workmanship in the first place." She felt another ripple of laughter at her back. "But I daresay they'll do a better job next time around."

Sarah tasted blood where she had bitten the inside of her mouth. "You're – you're _evil _–"

He hummed in agreement; then hissed at her ear. "And you're taking far too long, my beauty …"

Jareth's breath was hot; she shivered as she felt him close his sharp teeth on her earlobe – but he merely kept them there, without breaking the skin – her own breath came shallow as she waited for him to bite –

"Now, will you take off your coat and leave it here, Sarah? …" His voice slithered from around his clenched teeth, its tones made slightly indistinct by her own flesh. "Or need I _make _you?"

"_No _– I _won't –_"

He snapped his teeth shut – and black spots danced before her eyes at the _pain _–

Sarah stumbled where he had pushed her, toward the wall, with one hand. "Take off your coat, Sarah, and leave it here. _Now_."

She watched, feeling far away, as she slipped out of her coat and carefully folded it, and laid it down in the midst of flowers and candles, in front of her own picture. And then Sarah felt her eyes go wide as the coat shimmered, and seemed to _sigh _– and its dirty and threadbare folds unraveled, first slowly – then more quickly – and dissolved into nothing.

Sarah shivered again, and turned back towards Jareth. Part of her noted a smear of blood on his lower lip; another part observed how she felt a trickle running down her neck from her ear –

The shivering increased. He smirked. "You have a perfectly serviceable cloak back in our room, so –" and he held out a hand. "Shall we?"

"No." Sarah saw his eyes flame with anger, and impatience; she spoke as quickly as she could. _It worked with the coat. I'd rather dissolve into nothing than go back. It worked with the coat –_ "I don't belong, Jareth – _I _don't belong – and no cloak, or crystal, or anything of the Goblin Queen will _make _me belong …"

He raised his eyebrows, and the outstretched hand moved to touch the amulet hanging from her neck. "Debatable. And that is rather the point of punishment, Sarah, as you yourself observed to me – to take a purpose, or a calling, and twist it into a torment … but," his voice turned musing, "but it is true in part. _Parts _of you don't belong … Your coat, and –" Jareth looked her up and down, and grinned – "other accessories."

_oh __**fuck **__no – the bastard – twisting my words in every _–

"Yes, dear – it's somewhat of a specialty." Jareth snatched her hand, reeled her in to his side and folded her into his embrace –

Sarah gasped, and –

– there was her bedroom – her bedroom in her apartment – looking just as she had left it on – _what morning – what morning had it been – _

"Friday morning." Jareth strolled past her, peered out the window. "It's Saturday now – afternoon, by the sun."

_Sunset to sunrise – _the memory came to her after an effort –

Sarah looked around her bedroom. Just as she had left it – except the digital clock, blinking _3:00 – 3:00 – 3:00 –_

She closed her eyes at Jareth's voice – slippery, oily, _urgent _... "So, Sarah … will you take off your clothes … and leave them where they _belong _… or shall I _make_ you?"

Sarah could only see soft, red-black darkness. Her own eyelids – somehow comforting –

"This grows tedious." His words bit into her. "Sarah. Take off your clothes, and leave them here – quick as you can, please."

He sounded gleeful by the end of his order; she did not open her eyes to observe her hands unlacing her shoes, and then moving over buttons and hooks, instead saying: "I don't think this is tedious for you at all." Cool air hit her skin; she felt waves of goosebumps. "I think you're enjoying this."

When Jareth spoke again, she started, despite herself; his chin scraped her shoulder, and she had not heard him walk up to her. "You know me well. Very well … and soon, I shall be fully known. _You _shall be fully known …" His voice thickened, and Sarah squeezed her eyes shut tighter as she felt his hands on her body –

"By all the powers above and below – Sarah – _princess _–" his palms cupped her breasts and she shuddered – "you are so beautiful to me … I could lay you down where we have lain before and we could retrace what we learned together –"

_how long do you think it will take that romantic bridegroom Sarah to figure out how to do __**this **_–

She choked at the memory, and Jareth laughed against the back of her neck, his breath coming shorter, and hot – _burning _hot –

"Yes … far better to make new memories …" He spun her around to face him; her eyes opened with the movement. Sarah felt her mind cringe away from the lust twisting his face –

"No, Jareth – I want to stay _here –_" she cried out.

"Do you?" he hissed, grinning. "_Do _you? Come, then, princess –"

He grabbed her hand, and strode out the doorway of her bedroom, leading her to her living room –

– and a murmur of voices reached her, from her kitchen and from the dining table –

– her stepparents, and her mother, and Toby, and Lyn, and Dr. Michaels and Dr. Brown and Nurse Joe and Rachel's sister Leah with three of her children and others – _but not Ben where's Ben – _all pale and red-eyed, her mother actually sitting at the table with her head in her hands – they were here all _here_– and they would see her _naked _–

Sarah gasped and covered herself with her hands, as best she could – then whirled as she heard Jareth _cackling_ with laughter.

"Now _that_ dream – _that _motif – is a classic – you would be surprised at how many businessmen can be reduced to tears by simply walking naked into work – but not to _worry_, dearest love – they can't see you …"

"They can't?" Her voice sounded desolate, to her own ears.

"No, they can't – but they _miss_ you, precious thing – how they _miss _you – boo _hoo –_"

He had practically doubled over with laughter. Rage made her vision flicker around the edges, and she felt something in her mind snap –

"_BASTARD!" _Sarah screamed, and ran at him, and grabbed him by the arms and _pushed _–

She felt a silver shock wave break around her, ripple through her consciousness as the force of her push sent them away from her apartment and through the borders of dreams into –

Sarah gasped, and –

– there was the Labyrinth, gleaming in the sun, its intricate coils and turns glittering like a tiled pattern on a marble floor –

She cringed, half-expecting Jareth's voice – _it's further than you think – and time is short _–

– but she heard nothing …

Nothing, except the wind, coming in occasional gusts. Whistling through the gaunt branches of a tree behind her – leaving her shivering in her nakedness and feeling desolate …

"Hello?"

Her cry was faint – it echoed off the stones of the Labyrinth –

– _Goblin Queen –_

Fear washed over her – that _voice _…

– _Goblin Queen –_

Heart in her mouth, she approached the edge of the hill, and looked down –

– _Goblin Queen –_

– there was Jareth, at the gates of the Labyrinth –

– _come to me –_

– she took a step down, and another, down down tumbling down the hill and she had sand between her toes –

_come on, feet –_

"_No _–" she ground out, harshly – "you stupid feet, you'd stop right now if you knew what's best for you –"

– _**I **__am what's best for you –_

And she tried to retort, but her voice dried up of its own accord as she stopped before the gates of the Labyrinth, and saw Jareth reclining on his side there in the sand – his mane of hair shining gold – his skin tawny in the sunlight – _all _of his skin, for he was as naked as she …

She heard her own ragged breathing in the silence; he watched her, amused, his chin propped on one hand.

"Now, dear Sarah – this is the point at which you normally complain about your shoes – and I tell you: 'take them off, for you are standing on holy ground' – well, maybe not that last –" His voice, sly and wicked, caressed her body – she went weak at the knees. "And then … well – who knows what happens next?"

She swallowed.

"Cat got your tongue?" Jareth grinned. "You know you may always borrow mine ... Here, Sarah – come –" his eyes smoldered – "lie down with me, here …"

He smoothed one palm over the glittering sand – as she lay down, Sarah noted that the glitter came from the remnants of the gold and amber path that she remembered from her other dreams – the path had broken – broken and crumbled into dust –

_My dreams _– Sarah thought, vaguely, as Jareth smoothed one hand down her legs, and back up over them, and then swept both hands around her waist and rolled onto his back to let her unfold over his own body …

"Yes …" he murmured between kisses. "I will give you your dreams. I will give you the power of dreams …"

_The power of dreams_ … Her thoughts were hazy as his lips moved beneath hers – as she uncoiled her own tongue into his mouth, exploring and tasting – Sarah worked her fingers into his hair and tipped his head backward to kiss down his jaw, watching his eyes slide shut and the angle of bone change as he clenched his teeth and hissed as she shifted her body where it rested on his – _My dreams _–she remembered her dreams …

"Jareth –" she husked. "Where are the vines?"

"The vines are not here …" he whispered back to her, biting at her lips and slipping one knee between her legs. "I am not the vine – I am the snake …"

_The snake_ – she remembered her dreams … It was hard to remember, with him moving his thigh between hers, in a rhythm that sent ripples of pleasure through her. "What about the mirror?"

Jareth flexed his fingers on her hips. "What about it?"

"The gates turned into a mirror." And they were – shining and rippling into silver, above Jareth's head, where he lay –

– she smiled at her reflection –

_hello _–_ I'm Sarah who are you?_

And the immense silver snake in the mirror smiled back at her, and hissed, indistinct:

_I am your heart's desire _–

"What –"

_I am your heart's desire, sweet –_

Sarah gasped, and stiffened.

She heard Jareth growl, but she could not look away from the mirror –

_Sweet – _

And she realized that the snake was hard to understand because it was slowly swallowing her – working up her legs, writhing around her waist, and soon it would eat her alive –

Sarah screamed –

She screamed as loud as she could –

Sarah screamed and woke up –

But she could hardly move, because of the way she lay twisted and coiled in purple – the damask cover pushed down to the foot of the massive bed, and the sheets sliding over her bare skin the same way Jareth's hair slid over her fingers where she had knotted them in the silken strands –

"I suppose I should feel flattered." His voice was muffled, indistinct – her heart was racing fit to burst in her chest, her throat was sore – and her stomach lurched in equal parts desire and horror – _oh he __**didn't**__ oh no he __**did**__ or he was and why is he stopping _– as he lifted his head from between her legs and grinned at her, his features a study in light and shadow in the glow of the crystal –

"Jareth –" Sarah moaned. "Jareth – the snake –"

He laughed. "The snake was _eating_ you, sweet …" He splayed his fingers over her thighs; she felt her entire body jerk, instinctively. "And I'd say that _that_ symbolism really isn't that difficult to decode." Jareth smirked, and bent his head to lick her. At her gasp, he looked back up. "Is it?"

"No –" she choked.

"No," he replied. "I thought not." Jareth looked at her, eyes narrow, for another beat, and then lowered his head, agonizingly slowly – his gaze intent on her face –

Sarah couldn't bear to watch. She let her head collapse back onto the pillow and groaned what she remembered from her dreams – _from my dreams _–

"Heart's desire –"

"Yes .." Jareth hissed. "_Yes_, precious thing – and if you say it louder, you will be rewarded …"

"_Heart's_ desire –" she gasped.

"That's it …"

At the slick sensation of his mouth on her again, Sarah heard a high-pitched keening, coming from her own throat – "Jareth – but it can't – _you are my heart's desire _– that's you – that's what _you _said, in my dreams – my dreams – oh please, please _please _– oh **shit** – oh – _**fuck **_–"

"Sarah. I _am _your heart's desire – _feel _this –" he grabbed one of her hands with one of his, and brought their twisted fingers to where his mouth rested – "feel how _hot _you are for me, princess –" he rasped –

She felt. And, mauling her own lower lip in an effort to be silent, she tore her hand away and fisted it in the sheets.

Jareth laughed harshly and delved back into her with his fingers, and raked his mouth up her body, tantalizing her, lapping at her sweat and teasing her with his teeth. "You're hot for me. You're _wet _for me, sweet, and you're not leaving this bed until I've fucked you **through **it, you understand?"

Sarah's mouth fell open – she could not reply, she could not _speak_ – she had felt, and she was aching, _open _– pulsing in the same way that the amulet was, wedged as it was behind her right shoulder, digging into her flesh –

"Yes –" His voice dripped into her ear like scalding hot oil. "You feel so – **fuck**, princess, you make me want to –" he gave his fingers a final twist and brought his hand to her face and swiped across her forehead – the burn there stung – "Feel that? You're _ready _for me, Sarah, so dig your claws in, if you like …" Jareth gripped her shoulders and yanked her lower on the bed, fully beneath his body – his hot breath made her eyes water as he seized her face in both hands – "Claw away –" he bared his teeth at her – "you can't come _close_ to hurting me –"

– _why would he say –_

And any questions exploded out and away from her mind as Jareth buried himself in her with a vicious thrust – Sarah gasped in a breath to scream but then he trapped her mouth with his, snarling, and her throat turned to parchment and began to curl away in strips of ash – his mouth was too hot – _everything _was too hot – she had forgotten how his touch and his tongue _burned_ until he had brought her mind back from the pleasure he had given her with his mouth on her – _claw away_ –

Sarah dug her nails into his skin, feeling her palms slip on sweat, and scratched, and _clawed_ as he set a demanding pace, forcing her back into the bed with each thrust of his body – as he hissed his lust for her over her tongue – the taste of his own so horribly bitter – and as his lips curled back from his teeth and as he tore his mouth away to croon obscenities into her ear –

Her throat was too sore to scream, to cry out – she took in a rattling breath and _coughed _onto his neck, and stared through a red haze of pain at the crimson spatter on his throat – it was pain, and pleasure, and excruciating pain and – Jareth shifted to a different angle and she could almost hear the sound her eyes made, rolling back in her head – it was indescribable pleasure – and all Sarah could think of, with the conflict boiling through her brain like a flood of lava, was that she had died and gone to _Hell _with the pain of it –

– _oh wait that's right I have –_

"_Yes –_" Jareth grated into her ear – "you have, and you're _mine – __**mine**_, Sarah – **princess** – I will give you your dreams, I will give you power beyond your wildest imaginings, because you are _mine_– my jewel – my spring, my sun – my stars and moon – my flower and ripest fruit to eat –" he bit her, hard, and she managed a scream after all, but coughed until her body shook – but it wasn't the cough, it was the thrusts of his body that made her own spasm – she reached down his back and dragged her fingers up, clawing madly until she felt the stinging burn of his blood beneath her palms –

"My dream weaver – _feel_ what I'm offering you –" Sarah felt his body begin to grow somehow _hotter _as he brought his face to hers and ground his hips into hers and fixed her with his eyes –

His eyes – Jareth's eyes were flaming, their colors somehow blazing together – the jeweled eyes of the snake, the golden eyes of the owl – the mismatched blue eyes of the Goblin King – and behind them all but searing to the fore were the molten white-hot silver eyes that she remembered from her birthday from speaking to him only an hour or a day or a year before – how long was it – _I don't know_ – what day was it – _I don't know –_ but those eyes – she remembered those burning silver eyes as evil eyes – the Devil's eyes –

"You're the Devil –" she rasped – her throat was on fire –

His eyes glowed, ferocious, as he grappled her to him even closer. "I am your heart's desire."

Sarah felt the heat build to an unbearable pitch – the purple silk and damask began to smolder – and then silver flames leaped up around her –

"I am your heart's desire – and you shall give me mine –"

The fire roared so hot that she thought she was burning alive –

"You have given me yourself, and you will give me yourself again and again, and for the future you shall give me the dreamers, and for the last battle you shall give me a son –"

Jareth dragged in a deep breath, and

– the flames enveloped them –

"– he shall _rule_, Sarah – and he shall bring all under his feet, and give me dominion over the world, and victory in _my _time –"

– but they weren't flames anymore – they had flattened out into one immense, beautiful silver mirror –

"_My _victory – _my _time – _my _world –" Jareth whispered – yet she could hear him over the roaring in her ears – "_**my Sarah **__–"_

And he drove himself within her as deep as he ever had – and they fell through the glass, and she felt a silver shock wave break around and within her, rippling through her consciousness as the force of his climax sent them away from the bed of purple and fire, to the sand in front of the gates of the Labyrinth, to her apartment, to the steps in front of the cathedral, to the park bench, to the hospital and to the atrium –

– where she had seen, and she saw, where she had known, and she knew, the glass shattering, the darkness spreading – and silver eyes burning her to ash and the wide white wings of an owl ravaging her as it fell upon her, as she fell beneath it, screaming with no sound at all.

* * *

_  
I don't want to wake up …_

But it is too late: sleep spirals away from her and, with a sigh, Sarah wakes up.

She stares at the ceiling, blinking. The pale paint is familiar, though hard to see, in what little light falls through the windows – _of course – it's my parents' room_ – she feels damask slide beneath her cheek as she turns into the pillow – _wrong bed though _–

Frowning at this thought, she straightens, and rises – and feels her lips twist in a grimace at the strange ache through her entire body –

_Why does it hurt _–

Sarah slides off the bed, feeling a vague sense of heaviness – _I always thought that purple was overdone _– and shuffles out of the room into a hallway – but – _this is the hallway from my old dorm _…

Confused, she makes her way down the hall, through the gloom. To her right – the old, ratty dormitory bathroom – she hears something squeaking and shudders. To her left is another door – she opens it, and walks into another room – _my old college room – hey I thought I lost that shirt –_

– and then she looks over to her desk … and her heart stops, as she sees a crystal lying on in front of a large mirror

– the mirror showing her the desk entire, with its books and papers and pens

– and there is the crystal, and a feather …

"Here's the day you hoped would never come."

The words are quiet. They seem heavy, somehow – falling into the dark like coins into the water of a well.

Sarah breathes in, and realizes that her voice is the one echoing around her. She is the one who has spoken.

She closes her mouth.

Sarah stares at the mirror. There is the desk, the familiar chair. Pencils. Old books. A lamp.

And there, throwing a soft light into the room, glowing and perfect, sits a round crystal.

Its immaculate beauty almost keeps her from seeing the pale feather lying next to it.

Sarah sees it, though. _Of course I see it_. How could she not see it?

"No dream, this." Her whisper sounds thin, and disbelieving. "This is no dream."

A draft brushes over one bare shoulder; she ignores it.

If she were only to stretch out one hand, she could feel the desk. The familiar chair. The pencils and old books ...

One step forward, and she could take the crystal in her hand …

The draft turns into a light wind; she shivers.

And then she hears a footfall, behind her.

Sarah closes her eyes. Opens them. Stares at the crystal, and the feather, the desk and the chair, through a sudden haze of tears.

_Here's the day I hoped would never come._

She remembers everything.

The wind suddenly gusts through her hair with a _swish _– she jumps, and grabs her bare arms with her hands – and then she sees a familiar figure walk through the door – into her room – _into my room I remember you oh God **oh **__**God help me **__–_

"Ah. Here you are."

She turns her head to look.

Jareth smiles at her – his angular face tipped to one side, his mismatched eyes glinting – the soft fall of his owl-feather cape just barely brushing towards her – she feels a feather flick at her ankle –

Sarah stares at him. "Why have you brought me back here –" her words stumble – "back to college –"

But Jareth's attention has left her – he is looking at a scroll in his hand. He considers it, breaks the ornate seals, and unrolls it.

"What is that? Jareth?"

"Hm? Oh, just a note." Jareth scans the text, and then grimaces. "_Still _not time. I honestly don't know what they're waiting for."

He rolls it back up, snaps his fingers, and summons a flame – _silver _– her skin crawls. The parchment crackles, and then turns into ash – Jareth dusts off his hands with brisk, no-nonsense movements.

"Why am I here, Jareth?"

He looks up, from examining his pale, long fingers. Smiles at her from the corner of his eye.

"Are you truly here?"

Sarah turns back to the mirror, and stares at her reflection. Her look of unease, her hair brushing her shoulders – the one shoulder bare – and the room stretching around her – the _empty _room –

She feels her mouth go dry, and her hands turn cold, as she realizes. It is only _her_ reflection. She can't see Jareth there.

Sarah turns to look back at him. Jareth bares his teeth in a grin, and blows her a kiss.

She looks back at her reflection – but it's _changing _– she is saying something, in the mirror – the image says something – it stares, eyes wide, then takes a pillow, and a blanket, and runs away. A door slams.

The room around her flickers. Then it changes, into strange surroundings of sandstone, and crumbling masonry, floating in midair. Sand blows past her in the wind; her eyes water.

There is a mirror, floating in midair. If she stares hard enough at it, she can see into her **other** room – her college room – It is so close. If she stretches out a hand she could feel her desk ...

"I remember …"

"I wish you would not." And now Jareth steps forward, to her side; she can see him just brushing the edges of her vision. His voice is low. "It means only _trouble_ for you – trouble and unease – when you do."

"What do you mean?"

"I always find you here, Sarah. You keep coming back to it."

"What do you mean, _always_?"

He smiles.

"From time to time."

"This has happened before?"

"A time, and two times, and half a time – yes."

"How many times, Jareth?"

Sarah turns slightly, to stare at him straight on, her heart in her mouth.

Jareth's smile has turned secretive, and sly. "You know, I don't believe I'm going to tell you."

The choking sensation at her throat turns to fury, so suddenly – the roar of anger shooting up from her stomach takes her aback with its power. "What – you –"

"That's more like it." He gestures, and the crystal quivers on her desk, in her room, on the other side of the mirror – the feather wisps up to _touch _the mirror – there is a ripple, and the crystal floats through the mirror and through the air to her hand.

"Take up your work, my lady."

Sarah grips the crystal tightly. Another gust of wind rushes around her, making her cloak flap – _my cloak?_ – The heaviness that she had felt all along solidifies – and then Sarah sees her reflection, flickering; her white face and staring green eyes, her dark hair catching in the cloak and on the jagged spikes of the armor.

She cannot see Jareth, in the mirror – but she sees a silver light, to her side, glowing around her – so intense that she almost has to shut her eyes –

But she doesn't – even though they tear up, and the burn becomes well-nigh unbearable –

His voice is proud. "My Goblin Queen."

Sarah takes herself away from his gloating smile, and examines her own mind, in the mirror – the anger is still there – but it is somehow less vicious – somehow different. A righteous anger, burning with a golden light – a beautiful light as bright as the sun – a quiet determination …

In the golden light, she sees the dreamers. Rank upon rank of men, women, and children, gazing back at her. And then the light shines upon others – she sees Aaron, waving. She sees her parents – her mother, her father, her stepmother – she sees Toby – Lyn – and Ben – Ben smiling at her, holding a child in his arms –

Jareth is at her side, but she knows that he can see neither the dreamers nor her friends. She opens her mouth to deny him – to deny him everything –

And then Jareth speaks, in an echoing voice of power – burning and empty of everything but its own pride –

"Kneel before me."

Sarah feels a weight on her shoulders – she wills her mind to resist – and then she feels the sunlight gild a sliver of defiance – it becomes a golden sword in her hands, as she forms her thoughts into a wall that holds against him – and the only way to compel her will be to destroy her –

– the dreamers crowd around her and hold the wall – they free her to look down –

She sees a lithe silver snake, twisting around her feet. Sarah drags the sword around her side to the snake's head, willing her arm to move, willing the weight to lighten, as she prepares to slice at it – to destroy it –

Jareth hisses a curse. His hands clamp down on her upper arms – she feels his fingers, burning through the armor.

"_Kneel_ before me, Sarah –"

Sarah lifts her chin, and keeps her voice steady. "No."

_Hold on _– she orders herself. _Hold on – remember – and fear nothing, for there will be another time for you – at the last day –_

– _we'll be there ­_– and she almost weeps to hear the voice of her friend – _hold on, doctor – **Sarah **__– __stay strong – _Ben whispers in her ear – _we'll be there at the end –_

Jareth snarls out another curse – and she feels a gesture of power split the air –

And then she cries out, and opens her eyes wide, fighting against the sting of tears and the bite of white-gold sand whipping past her in the rising wind, struggling to see the glass through the crackling silver haze of power – burning the images into her mind – herself in armor and regalia, herself in a white coat, herself in a thin shirt – a room, a desk – a feather and a crystal flickering and fading from view –

"Happy anniversary," Jareth hisses.

– telling herself that she will remember this time, so that the next time will be different – that she will keep it secret, and keep it safe: the memory of the day she hoped would never come.

**The End**

* * *

_  
Sóbrii estóte, et vigiláte: quia adversárius vester diábolus tamquam leo rúgiens círcuit, quærens quem dévoret –_

Be watchful, be vigilant: for your adversary the devil walketh about as a raging lion, seeking whom he may devour _–_

1 Peter 5:8

* * *

That's straightforward enough … -grins-

That passage, and the one Ben sings in ch. 5 are both texts (the latter a hymn written in the 4th century, I think) sung at evening monastic prayers.

Other Biblical passages that figure largely in this fic include:

Genesis 3:1-15 (The Serpent)

Job 1:6-12, Job 2:1-7 ("Going to and fro upon the earth")

Song of Solomon 1:1-4; 4:10-11, 16; 5:1-4 (yowza!)

John 2:1-11 (changing water into wine)

**Matthew 4:1-11** (Jesus tempted by the Devil in the wilderness) - **this one is key!**

Matthew 24:6-8 (signs of the end of the world)

John 13:21-30 (dipped bread given to the betrayer)

John 15:1-6 (The vine, branches and fruit)

Matthew 26:30-46 (Peter's denial foretold, the vigil in Gethsemane)

Matthew 26:69-75 (Peter's denial of Jesus)

John 18:38 ("What is truth?")

Matthew 27:34, 48, 51 (vinegar and the veil)

1 Corinthians 13 (The Love chapter)

1 Corinthians 15:20-26, 51-58 ("We shall be changed")

Revelation 12 (the woman and the dragon, "he who deceives the world")

Revelation 13 (the mark of the Beast)

Revelation 7:9-17; Revelation 19:1-6 (the praises of the multitude)

Revelation 20:1-10 (the thousand years)

The wine that Jareth drinks is taken from C.S. Lewis' "Screwtape Proposes a Toast" – Screwtape admires the color of the vintage that is brought to the devils' table. All the writhing red and purple streaks in it are actually the souls of the damned, pressed together, _twining _together, for eternity. Yummy!

The song playing on the taxi radio in ch. 4 is, of course, "Highway to Hell," courtesy of AC/DC.

In this last chapter, I nicked a few lines from Guy Gavriel Kay, and a line from one of **theatresm**'s Harry Potter fics, for the sex scene.

As for other credit where credit is due: I've probably missed explaining other references, so you're curious about anything and/or want to point out: OMG you stole that, drop me a line and I'll explain what I was trying to do and/or give the ref.

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I hope my Sunday School teacher never sees this fic! I cut the most sacreligious part – which might appear, much MUCH later, if I get the guts to post it. If I do, its title will be: **Ben's Dream**.

Thank you to all who reviewed, thank you to **imbrium** and **thistlebush **for their feedback and suggestions …

... and thanks, most of all, to **Pika** – I'll say it again, people: go look at her artwork! It's linked through her profile. And she painted a bee-yootiful Erlkönig picture just recently, so my motives are not entirely without self-interest … I want people to enjoy that pic as much as I do. -grins-

So thanks to **Pika**: for her artwork, for her challenge, and for the way "Here's the Day" first made me shiver, then gave me a great idea … which broke off from Erlkönig and joined itself to the fic I had always wanted to write but couldn't make work until then.

And to everyone: take care, and thanks for staying with me to the bitter end.

Subtilior

**6/15/07 - 9/7/07**


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